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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 

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'i^X 












Katherine Montressor. 


I 


Would Any Man? 


by 


/ 


Charles Peale Didier 


author of 


Twixt Cupid and Croesus, etc. 




WITH NINE FULL PAGE 

BY THE 


TIONS 


Williams & Wilkins 

PUBLISHES s 
1898. 



TWO COPIES BECEIVED. 



Copyright, 1898, 

By CHARLES PEALE DIDIER. 


3845 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


I. Katherine Montressor .... Frontispiece 

Page 


II. Often SHE WOULD GO IN THE afternoons ... 38 

III. “Mandy is right, he is a ‘beauty’ ” .... 52 

IV. Swayed gracefully to the motion of her step . 66 

V. In search of local color 78 

VI. “He will not like it’’ 94 

VII. “I HARDLY THINK THERE IS MUCH I CAN DO” . . . Io8 

VIII. Agnes 126 

IX. “Would you, would any man?” 164 


Would Any Man? 


BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 


Twixt Cupid and Croesus, si, so net. 

New York Sun— “A curious book, certainly, is ‘ ’Twixt Cupid and 
Croesus.’ One handles what seems to be the actual original 
correspondence of several persons.” 

Boston Globe— ‘‘All whose hearts are still stirred by the old, old 
story which is ever new, will welcome ‘ ’Twixt Cupid and 
Croesus.’ ” 

Baltimore Sun — ‘‘ Seldom has a charming story of fiction been 
told in a more unique, novel and artistic manner.” 

New Haven Evening Register — ‘‘ A more unique love story than 
that just issued by the well-known artist, Chas. P. Didier, 
would be hard to find. The story is attractively illustrated.” 

Coiumbus Press — ‘‘ The Press can hardly hesitate in pronouncing 
it the most attractive piece of book construction ever offereo 
the public at large by an American publisher. 

‘‘ The story is delightfully told and conceived with much 
delicacy.” 

Richmond Despatch — ‘‘ This is one of the most unique conceits in 
the way of a romance publication we have ever seen. Beauti- 
fully and profusely illustrated.” 

Washington Times—” One of the most delightful bits of romance 
ever penned.” 

R. S. V. P., SI, so NET, 

Hartford Daily Times—” It is not easy to say whether Mr. Didier 
accomplishes more with the pen or the pencil. The story is 
told through two different modes of expression, each of which 
is singularly felicitous and each of which supplements the 
other.” 

Horning News, Savannah — “The novel is a bright and breezy 
love story. The illustrations, printing, paper and binding are 
chaste and elegant. 

” It is seldom the case that a bright writer is a clever illus- 
trator or vice versa, but Mr. Didier combines the talents 
charmingly.” 

Indianapolis Sentinel — “One of the neatest books as to outward 
appearance and one of the most unique and interesting as to 
quality is ‘ R. S. V. P.’ by Charles P. Didier. This book is 
c^uite a new departure in the bookmaker’s art. The illustra- 
tions place Mr. Didier well in the front ranks. They show not 
only technical skill, but great refinement in drawing and 
characterization . ’ ’ 

The Philadelphia Press—” Text and illustrations have both spirit 
and finish and merit not always found in such works, with 
intimate connections between the reading matter and the 
picture. They are good pictures to look at and an entertain- 
ing story to go with them.” 



. < 


I 


Would Any Man? 


CHAP. I. 

Ten miles or more to the west of one of 
the most important towns in Virginia, set 
some-what back from, and overlooking, the 
banks of the James river, stands what was one 
of the finest Colonial mansions of that once 
glorious old State. 

A huge trunk of ivy, which is nearly as old 
as the building itself, has put forth its count- 
less branches clinging to the time-stained 
walls and twining caressingly around the 
broken windows as if to conceal the ruin and 
neglect within. 

According to an inscription, graven deeply 
into the corner-stone of moss-covered granite, 
what remains of this noble structure has 


2 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


weathered the storms of more than seven- 
score years and ten, and even to the present 
day its walls are scarred but little, and only 
the woodwork shows the vandal hand of 
Time. 

As it stands, in its stricken grandeur, with 
its massive pillars of stone extending to the 
roof, like great sentinels guarding its entrance, 
its queer shaped windows, with their diamond 
panes and gruesome cornices, its wide por- 
ticos, and many acres of rich and fertile soil, 
it seems to dwell on by-gone days of powdered 
hair and minuet, when our dainty grand- 
mamas, with their quaint short-waisted gowns, 
were wooed and won within its walls, or per- 
haps under some secluded bower, fragrant 
and sweet with the delicate odor of overhang- 
ing jessamine. 

And the river, as it flows along, seems to 
question as it passes. Why, O noble manor, 
are you so deserted, what stain has blighted 
your fair history, what curse has stricken and 
left you desolate in your old age ? 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


3 


So the old place stands, abandoned, and 
uncared for. Its grounds are seldom entered, 
and overgrown with weeds; its noble oaks 
have fallen here and there, and every thing 
around presents a scene of abject desolation. 

•<« ii! ^ ^ >ic 5}s 5|c 

One morning, eight years or more before 
the opening of this chapter, a young girl was 
leaning against one of the stone pillars which 
have been mentioned. Her head was slightly 
inclined, her expression one of mingled resig- 
nation and despair, an expression which sor- 
row alone can produce on the countenance of 
a true and noble nature. She wore a simple 
gown of black material, trimmed with crape, 
showing her tall, graceful figure to advantage. 

Here she stood trying to collect her 
thoughts, — trying, but failing utterly. Her 
sorrow had taken complete possession of her 
and was weighing her down like a mighty 
mountain. Her brain was dead to every 
thought, except the one, that her mother, her 
own dear mother, had gone forever. 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


She had been here but a few moments, when 
she was startled by the sound of footsteps in 
the hall behind her. With a shudder of ab- 
horrence, she turned to confront the new- 
comer. 

He was a man of about fifty years of age, 
tall and slender, with hair and moustache* of 
an iron grey color, slightly bent in the should- 
ers, and his eyes, which were small and very 
dark, were sharp and restless. 

His teeth, which he was continually dis- 
playing, owing to a much indulged in smile — 
looking anything but human — were very 
white and regular. On the whole he was 
what is called aristocratic looking, but one 
whom a keen observer would have mistrusted. 

*‘Good morning, Katherine,” he said, with 
affected cordiality. ‘^1 am glad to see you. 
It has been sometime since you have con- 
descended to vouchsafe me the honor of your 
company. This is the first time, I believe, 
since the funeral of your departed mother. I 
trust, I was not conspicuous by my absence. 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


5 


and that there were no hitches in the cere- 
mony. It would have looked better, perhaps, 
if I had been present, but I have always had 
the greatest antipathy for funerals, they are 
tiresome, to say the least, and then, too, I had 
an engagement in town that morning, and 
couldn’t possibly have been back in time.” 

The girl gave him a look of contempt, and 
turned to pass through the doorway. 

“Not yet,” he said insinuatingly, taking a 
few steps backward to block the way, “ I am 
off for New York to-night, and it is natural 
that I should want to enjoy your company 
while I can.” 

The girl saw that resistance was useless, and 
sank heavily down on a rustic bench, by the 
side of the door. 

“ There are several things I want to speak 
to you about this morning,” he continued, 
rubbing his hands as he spoke, “only trifles 
at present, but I will have something of much 
more import in the near future. Your mother 
had some handsome jewels, a diamond brooch 


6 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


among them, which doubtless you remember 
very well. I would like to have them. Do 
you know where they are ? ” 

“I do,” the girl answered slowly. 

“Well, I should like to have them reset, for 
a friend of mine, whom they will become 
much more than they ever did your mother. 
Kindly get them at once.” 

“I do not quite understand you,” the girl 
said, rousing herself and looking up into his 
face, with an expression of half fear, half 
wonder. 

“I can’t see that it is at all necessary that 
you should, but to satisfy your curiosity, I 
will tell you. I intend having the stones reset 
in New York, to give to a very dear friend of 
mine, against whom your mother has doubt- 
less tried to prejudice you.” 

“I should think,” Katherine replied, now 
fully convinced of his intention, “ that you 
would have the decency not to mention that 
woman in my presence, especially at such a 
time as this. As to my mother’s jewels, her 


WOULD ANY MAN^ 


7 


father’s presents to her, I will never give them 
up for such a purpose, never!” 

“How very dramatic. Really, Katherine, you 
are endowed with a number of talents. They 
should all be cultivated, they should indeed. 
Your sentiment is something beautiful, too, 
but it does not pay in this enlightened cen- 
tury. You should learn to look at life from 
a more practical standpoint. It is about time 
you were giving up your foolish illusions, and 
taking things as they come. “That woman,” 
as it pleased you to style her a few moments 
ago, will, before many weeks, be my wife, 
and the mistress of this place. And you will 
have to treat her as such. Do you under- 
stand ? ” 

“I think you forget,” the girl said, in a calm 
tone, born of self-restraint, “that this place 
and all his property, was, at my mother’s 
death, by my grandfather’s will, to belong to 
me. Do you not think that I should be con- 
sulted somewhat as to the management of 
it?” 


8 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


“We’ll see about that later,” Richard Mon- 
tressor said, with a confident smile. “We’ll 
see about that. Wills are often misinterpreted 
and very easily broken. I think your grand- 
father’s will prove itself as brittle as a good 
many others in the past.” 

The girl looked at him wonderingly. An 
undercurrent of assurance in his threat puz- 
zled her. She knew him to be too much of 
a diplomat to threaten unless he was sure of 
winning in the end, and yet, how, or in any 
way, he could have a will set aside which had 
stood for ten years or more was incompre- 
hensible to her. Had her mind been free 
of grief, she might have given his words more 
thought, but as it was, they made but little 
impression. 

“However, we will let that matter rest for 
a while,’^ he continued. “What I wish to 
know now is, where are those jewels ? I 
would like to take them with me, and have no 
time to bandy words with you;” and looking 
at his watch, “I have some business in town. 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


9 


it is time I was off. I ask again, will you 
get them or not ? 

''I have told you,” Katherine replied, in a 
very determined tone, “once and for all, I will 
not.” 

“Oh, very well have it your own way this 
time, but I think you will regret it, I do in- 
deed,” he said in his usual suave manner, 
but in a tone which the girl knew contained 
much latent wrath. 

“I will not be back for several days,” he 
continued. “On my return, I will have some 
matters of much more importance to talk 
to you about. I hope my absence will prove 
of much benefit to your health, and that you 
will sufficiently recover to talk reasonably. I 
say reasonably, but I think, rationally is more 
fitting; the former could hardly be expected 
of any woman.” 

So saying, he descended the steps, got into 
his buggy, and hardly giving his servant 
time to seat himself beside him, he gave the 
horse a sharp cut with the whip, and dashed 
down the road which led to town. 


lO 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


The girl rose wearily, like one who has 
been dazed by a sudden blow, and giving him 
a glance of mingled dread and loathing, 
turned and walked into the house. 

With slow and languid step, she ascended 
the broad stairs at the back of the hall. The 
slanting rays of the morning sun, pouring in 
through the large stained glass window which 
crossed the recess at the head of the first land- 
ing, threw a mellow glow of color around her 
sombre figure, and then passed on to touch 
into life and brilliancy the portraits of her 
ancestors which had been hanging for many 
years on the walls below. 

When she reached the landing her artistic 
nature prompted her to turn and look back 
to see the effect of light and color. However 
stricken by grief and misery she was, she 
yearned to return to her painting, and there , 
find something to absorb and occupy her j 
mind. i 

The soft rays fell obliquely across the pic- f 
tures, bringing out in bold relief one of their | 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


1 1 

i number — that of her grandfather Faulkner, 
I her mother's father. His was a lovable, kind 
I old face, surmounted with long silvery locks 
combed back from a high, noble forehead. 
What a contrast, she thought, to the man she 
recognized as her father. The portrait seemed 
so life-like, looking out at her with its kind 
j grave eyes, that she almost cried out to it for 
I help, as she had done so often to the original 
j in her childhood days, and never without suc- 
i cess. 

“Oh!” she thought bitterly, “if he only had 
lived, that brute would never have killed my 
mother by his cruelty, and torture me as he 
does.” 

She stood for some moments watching the 
portrait, until the light which illumined it 
shifted its position, and the canvas was left 
sombre and colorless. 

“How like my life,” she thought sorrow- 
fully, “the light has passed, and left it dark 
and shadowed.” 


CHAP. 11. 


Richard Montressor had come to this 
country from England when a young man, 
with the making of a much coveted fortune in 
view, but, like many of his kinsmen, he had 
found it to be a more difficult matter than he 
had first supposed. 

Many schemes were entered into by him, 
but they all waned into failure. Finally, with 
the slight means left him he purchased a small 
tract of land in Virginia, with the intention 
of stock-farming, but with little knowledge of 
that pursuit. Being at that time a man of 
prepossessing appearance, courteous manners 
and of considerable outward refinement, it is 
not to be wondered at that the doors of South- 
ern hospitality were soon thrown wide open 
to him. He readily succeeded in gaining 
entre to the best families of the locality; and 
it was at her father’s house he met Mary 
Faulkner, the mother of the girl we have seen ; 
and an only and idolized child. 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


13 


Naturally supposing that she would some 
day inherit her father^s large estate, Mon- 
tressor lost no time in laying siege to her 
heart, which he became most anxious to 
possess after he had searched the records of 
the county court and ascertained the amount 
of property shown there to her father’s credit. 

It was not long before Mary Faulkner, ro- 
mantic and at a susceptible age, found herself 
in love with the young Englishman, or rather 
imagined herself to be, which suited his pur- 
pose equally as well. 

Mr. Faulkner, however, being a keener ob- 
server of what is called character than his 
daughter, bitterly opposed the attentions of 
young Montressor, and not until a space of 
two years had elapsed did he reluctantly give 
his consent to their marriage. One child, 
Katherine, was born of this marriage, and it 
was for her sake that Mr. Faulkner tolerated 
the later conduct of his son-in-law and allowed 
him to remain under his roof, for, after Mon- 
tressor was thoroughly convinced of the fact 
that his wife’s father would make almost any 


14 WOULD ANY MAN? 

sacrifice rather than scandal should be con- 
nected with those of his blood, he plunged 
into all kinds of dissipation and showed him- 
self as he really was. 

He wilfully and openly neglected his young 
wife, and subjected her to the grossest in- 
sults in the presence of strangers. He even 
Vvent so far as to boast among his profligate 
companions, that should the estate ever come 
under his control he would find the means of 
getting the most of it into his possession, di- 
vorce his wife, and bring to the Manor a 
new mistress, in the person of one who had 
long since held that position to him. 

For years Mrs. Montressor bore her hus- 
band’s infidelities and cruelty without a mur- 
mur, for the sake of her daughter and in order 
that the last years of her father’s life might 
be as free as possible from care and trouble. 

After the death of Mr. Faulkner, when it 
was found that the income from his estate 
was all his daughter could control — the entire 
property being entailed for the grand- 
daughter, absolutely — Montressor plunged 


WOULD ANY MAN? 1 5 

into dissipation even more deeply than he had 
in the past. His insatiate demands and ever 
accumulating debts were a constant drain on 
his wife’s income, of which^ although it was 
large, there was scarcely enough left to main- 
tain the Manor. 

For five years longer, Mrs. Montressor’s 
constitution gradually weakened under her 
husband’s brutal conduct, which then scarcely 
knew any bounds, there being no one to check 
it. She made a brave and pitiable struggle, 
but at last her shattered health gave way and, 
after a lingering illness of some months, she 
died. 

Katherine was at this time in the twenty- 
second year of her age. She had inherited 
all the earlier beauty of her mother without 
her delicate constitution. Her tall majestic 
figure showed grace and strength in every 
movement and gave evidence of the healthy 
out-door life which she had led since her ear- 
liest childhood. 

Her face, surrounded by a wealth of deep 
brown hair, was beautiful in its strength of 


1 6 WOULD ANY MAN? 

line and clear complexion. Her eyes were 
large and sad, her mouth was firm yet sweet 
and contained lines indicating much force of 
character and purpose. 

Since she had been able to appreciate the 
cause of her mother’s distress and failing 
health, all her natural love for the man she 
recognized as her father had ceased. And 
with advancing years, what at first had been 
disgust and loathing, ripened into hatred. 
She despised him with as much fervor as she 
loved the woman against whom he directed 
his brutalities. 

That Mr. Montressor’s conduct toward his 
wife had long since crushed out all filial love 
for him was no secret, and consequently there 
was much speculation as to how he would 
fare at the hands of his daughter, who was 
known to be of much sterner mould than her 
mother. 

During his absence, Katherine’s time was 
largely taken up by the painful duty of getting 
her mother’s things together, and with the 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


17 


aid of Mandy, her old negro nurse, packing 
them in the chests which had stood for 
many a year in the garrets of the Manor. The 
rings and smaller articles of value, she took 
to her own room and placed under lock and 
key. In going through an accumulation of 
old letters, she found a small package daintily 
tied with white ribbon and marked on the top 
in her mother’s handwriting “D. K., who died 
in India in 1874.” She opened the package 
and took from it a miniature, exquisitely paint- 
ed and framed in a gold locket, after the old 
style. 

It was a portrait of a man about thirty 
years of age, with regular features, dark eyes 
and a thick suit of brown hair. Katherine ex- 
amined it closely. She wondered who the 
original could have been; she knew of no one 
in the family with those initials, and yet the 
face seemed strangely familiar. It was queer, 
she thought, that her mother, knowing how 
interested she was in all works of art, should 
never have shown this beautifully executed 


1 8 WOULD ANY MAN? 

thing to her. She studied it a while, then 
turned it over, and found engraved on the back 
of the locket “To Mary Hollingsworth Faulk- 
ner, the only woman I ever loved.” She placed 
it back again in its box, with a sigh, and con- 
tinued her work of straightening the desk. 
When she had about completed her task she 
turned to gather up some papers which she 
had put on the top of the dressing table be- 
side her. In so doing, she caught a glimpse 
of her own features in the mirror. Again she ; 
took the miniature from its box and stood be- 
fore the glass, glancing from the painting to 
her own reflection and vice versa. 

Hearing the wheels of a carriage coming up 
the road which led to the house, she quickly 
placed the box and its contents in the desk. 
She then closed in the shutters quickly, 
gathered up her bundle of torn letters, locked 
the door and tip-toed back to her own room, j 
She had been there but a short time when a 
knock came on the door. On being bidden, ^ 
her old nurse entered. ' 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


19 


“What is it, Mandy?’’ Katherine asked, see- 
ing the old negress somewhat agitated and 
nervous, “a message from my father, I sup- 
pose?” 

“Ya’s miss^ it are miss, he say he’s cum 
back, miss, an’ want to see you.” 

“Oh, very well; you can tell him I’ll be 
down directly.” 

“Miss Katherine, cawn’t you cum now? 
I’s skeered to go back. He seem powerful 
cross dis evenin’.” 

Katherine could not help smiling at Han- 
dy’s terrified expression, but said nothing, for 
she never encouraged the slightest disrespect 
in the servants towards her father, and avoided 
as much as possible any scenes in their pres- 
ence. 

She quickly changed her gown and, leaving 
Mandy to straighten her room, went down to 
the library, to be as civil as possible under the 
circumstances. 

Mr. Montressor was reclining in a large 
arm chair, smoking a cigar. He did not hear 


20 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


Katherine until she had passed well into the 
room, but seemed to be lost in thought, which, 
judging from his clouded brow, was not of the 
most agreeable nature. Becoming aware of 
her presence, he rose and advanced to meet 
her. 

“I am glad to see you, Katherine,” he said 
with an attempt at an affectionate tone. 

The girl drew back and inclined her head 
slightly. 

*‘You sent for me,” she said coldly. 

‘‘Yes,” he replied, motioning her to a chair 
as he spoke. “I have something to say to you, 
but before I do so, I would like to tell you 
that I am exceedingly sorry that I spoke to 
you as I did before leaving. The fact of the 
matter is, I was much worried at the time and 
spoke more harshly than I intended, and, too, 
}OU irritate me, Katherine; you do, indeed.” 

“In what way?” she asked calmly. 

“In many,” he replied. “You do not show 
me proper respect, nor do you ever seem to 
have the slightest regard for my wishes.” 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


21 


''And have you for mine?” she asked, look- 
ing straight into his evil, treacherous face. 
"When have you ever considered me in any 
possible way? What right have you, or has 
any parent, to bring children into the world 
and torture them as you do me? It is surely 
the father’s duty to make the daughter’s life, 
which he is responsible for, what it should be, 
at least so far as it is in his power to do so.” 

"And is it not,” he broke in insinuatingly, 
"the duty of a daughter to honor and obey 
her father?” 

"When the father merits such from the 
daughter, only,” the girl said bitterly. "When 
respect is commanded it is usually shown.” 

"Well,” he said, curbing his rising anger, 
for he had a game to play, "we’ll let bygones 
be bygones, and see if there cannot be peace 
between us in the future. My reason for send- 
ing for you is this,” he continued after a short 
pause: before going to New York I stopped 
in town for a few hours, and there happened 
to run across Mr. Saunders, the lawyer, who 


22 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


you know was appointed by the court to ad- 
minister on your mother’s estate. He tells 
me that it is necessary, before he can go any 
further, for you to sign a paper which he gave 
me. By so doing you will avoid any further 
delay and a great deal of trouble to yourself in 
the future.” He paused for a second or two; 
then continued carelessly, “you may sign or 
not, as suits you best. I am sure you will 
acquit me of any undue interest in the matter, 
as you well know I was not even mentioned 
in your grandfather’s will except in an insult- 
ing way, and that his entire property was left 
to your mother in trust for you.” 

“What is the nature of the paper?” the girl 
asked suspiciously. 

“None in particular,” he replied with affect- 
ed carelessness. “It is merely a brief required 
by the court, yet necessary before further pro- 
ceedings. Shall I read it to you?” 

“I won’t trouble you,” she said stiffly, but 
if you will be so kind as to permit me I will 
read it for myself.” 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


23 


She sat for some moments eagerly scanning 
the paper, which, owing to its many legal 
phrases and purposely twisted ones, she could 
not understand. 

“And why,^’ she asked, glancing up at him, 
“is your name mentioned here?” 

“For a very obvious reason,” he replied, 
“which is this: the State supposes the hus- 
band and wife to hold an undivided interest in 
the property of one another. The paper which 
you hold in your hand is merely to show that 
the estate which has come to you was never 
your mother’s absolutely, but held by her in 
trust for you and in no way subject to my con- 
trol. I do not wish,” he continued in a suave 
manner, “to influence you in the slightest 
against your judgment; you asked for infor- 
mation, I gave it.” 

The lies he uttered came so quickly in re- 
sponse to her questions, and with so little hes- 
itancy on his part, that she, weary and broken 
by grief as she was, and anxious to leave his 
presence, gave his words more credence than 


24 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


she would have otherwise done. She rose 
slowly as one in doubt, and reseated herself 
at his desk nearby. 

"Where is the proper place for my name?’’ 
she asked, wearily. 

""Fortunes are not taken care of without 
some trouble,” he said with an attempt at flip- 
pancy. ""I fear you will find yours more of a 
burden than you would suppose.” He then 
bent and indicated the information she desired 
with one long thin finger. 

The girl made no reply, but hesitated for a 
moment, while she re-read the portion of the 
paper in which his name appeared. She then se- 
lected a pen with which to make herself a pau- 
per, and give him — diabolical scoundrel that 
he was — the power to crush her, and to bring 
to the Manor the cause of his frequent visits to 
New York, and make her his wife or continue 
to keep her his mistress, as it best suited him. 

As he stood behind her chair, awaiting anx- 
iously the culmination of his infamous plot, 
his face took on an expression that was fiend- 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


25 


ish in the extreme. All the devil that was in 
him shone forth in his evil countenance at 
that moment. 

Intent on his wickedness, and eager to get 
the paper into his possession, he stood with 
hawk-like eyes riveted on the place for her 
signature, and entirely unmindful of the po- 
sition of the mirror which stood some fifteen 
feet in front of them. 

The girl again hesitated, then reached for 
the ink which was some little distance away. 
As she did so she raised her eyes unsuspect- 
ingly. The pen dropped from her hand, and 
she rose to her feet. 

“I hardly think I will sign this to-day,” she 
said calmly. 'T have no doubt the court will 
notify me when there is any business to be 
transacted. I will bid you good afternoon.” 

As the curtains closed behind her, he threw 
himself down in his chair with a muttered 
oath. He was not a man to be thwarted in 
his schemes. Once determined on some dev- 
ilish act he would go to any length to carry it 


26 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


through. He sat for some time until an idea 
struck him. Wheeling his chair around sud- 
denly, without rising, he unlocked a drawer in 
the side of his desk. With shaking hands he 
fumbled through a lot of papers, and at length 
found the one he wanted, a copy of the will of 
the late Robert Faulkner. He then leaned 
back and read it four or five times from be- 
ginning to end. Again turning to the desk, 
he quickly wrote a short note. Calling one of 
the young negro men he gave it to him, with 
the orders to hitch up the fastest horse in the 
stable, and to take the note to town to Mr. 
Saunders, the lawyer, and bring that gentle- 
man back as fast as the horse could come. By 
way of encouragement to have his orders 
strictly and promptly obeyed, he added, “If 
you are not back here in two hours, I will 
break every bone in your damned body; do 
you understand? Off with you, you black 
scoundrel.’* 

It so happened that Mr. Saunders was in his 
office when the messenger arrived. He was 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


27 


busily engaged in working out a case against 
an insurance company, in which his client, a 
gentleman of the Hebrew persuasion, was 
suing to recover three times the loss on a 
miserable stock of boots and shoes which had 
burned a month or so before very myster- 
iously. 

Mr. Saunders had taken up his profession 
with but one object in view, and that was 
to get all the money out of it he could, 
irrespective of the ways and means; and look- 
ing at matters from his point of view, he had 
done remarkably well. A large fee had been 
promised him by Richard Montressor if he 
could, by fair means or foul, get the Faulkner 
property into his hands, and consequently his 
countenance fairly beamed for joy when he 
read the note. He thought only of the rich 
reward to be received by him for his services, 
and knew they would not be needed unless 
his client meant immediate action. 

After dismissing the very much wronged 
boot and shoe dealer, having made an engage- 


28 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


ment to take up his case that evening again, 
Mr. Saunders took a handful of fine cigars, 
from a box which he kept only for clients 
whose cases represented any sum from a thou- 
sand dollars up; put a small volume contain- 
ing some recent and important decisions of 
the Orphans’ Court into his pocket and drove 
to the Manor at breakneck speed with the 
messenger. 

Three hours later Mr. Montressor was left 
in his private office in a much more easy 
frame of mind, having been assured that the 
case in question was a very simple one indeed, 
and that there would not be the slightest diffi- 
culty about it, not the slightest. 


CHAP. III. 


As Katherine was about to start out the 
next afternoon in search of some interesting 
bit of nature to reproduce on her canvas, the 
message that her father wanted to see her in 
his office on important business at once was 
brought to her room. 

She found him seated by his desk, making 
a pretense at reading a newspaper. She rec- 
ognized at a glance that there was a storm 
ahead, and determined to avoid it if possible. 

“I am glad to see,’' he began in his natural 
sneering tone as she entered, ‘'that you have 
some little respect for my wishes, and have 
come so promptly.” 

The girl made no reply, but sank down on 
the nearest chair at hand. 

‘T have a matter to speak to you about this 
afternoon,” he continued, “which I assure you 


30 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


is exceedingly distasteful to me, and I have no 
doubt that it will prove? equally so to you. I 
will lose no time in coming to the point, how- 
ever. I do not believe in beating around a 
matter of this kind, and think the sooner we 
settle the question the better.’" 

He paused for a short while as if waiting 
for her to speak, but she said nothing and he 
continued: ’ 

“Your mother and myself were married on 
the 1 6th day of January, 1868, which fact 
more than likely you are very well aware of. 
If you will refer to the list of births in your 
grandfather’s family Bible you will find that 
the date of yours, put there by your mother, 
is April 1 8th of the following year. You will 
oblige me by keeping these dates in mind until 
I finish.” 

“I have here,” he continued, picking up a 
paper from the desk as he spoke, “a copy of 
your grandfather’s will, which is very concise 
and clear in its meaning. I will read a clause 
which bears on the subject in question and 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


31 


wish you to follow me closely. You will, I 
think, be able to understand; if not, I will be 
most happy to explain. Women, I know are 
often very obtuse about such matters. Before 
I continue,” he said rather abruptly, “I would 
like to ask you a question: Your mother had a 
miniature, which was set in an old-fashioned 
gold locket. Did she ever show it to you?” 

“She did not,” the girl answered slowly. 

“I am not surprised at that,” he said with 
a sneer. “You should find it — I haven’t a 
doubt it is among her things, — and, alter the 
drawing of the hair and body, you would then 
have a striking portrait of yourself. However, 
we will leave that point until a little later.” 

He then raised the copy of the will from his 
knee, and read as follows, “I do hereby be- 
queath, give and devise the income from all 
property, real, personal, or mixed, which I die 
possessed of, be it located in this State or else- 
where, to my beloved daughter, Mary Faulk- 
ner Montressor; and I furthermore wish it to 
be distinctly understood that the said income 


32 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


is to be in no way subject to the debts or con- 
trol of her husband, Richard Montressor, but 
is to be paid into her hands and enjoyed by 
her during her life-time. At her death my en- 
tire estate is to go to their daughter, abso- 
lutely. Should she not be of age, etc. — ” 

“I will not go any further,” he said, folding 
the paper and creasing its edges, as he spoke. 
“What I have read to you will fully serve my 
purpose.” 

“I cannot understand what all this means,” 
the girl said wonderingly, “but I have no 
doubt that it is something infamous. Be kind 
enough to explain yourself.” 

“Certainly,” he replied, bowing conde- 
scendingly, having arisen to his feet. “The 
whole matter amounts to this, that your 
grandfather's entire estate by his own will 
belongs to me.” 

“The clause I have just read you distinctly 
says that at your mother’s death the property 
is to go to the daughter of Richard and Mary 
Montressor. Being no such person and your 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


33 


mother having left no other near relatives, 
the estate by the law belongs to me. Do you 
understand me now?” 

“No,” the girl said, raising her eyes until 
they met his, “I most emphatically do not.” 

“Really, Katherine, you are even more ob- 
tuse than I gave you the credit for being. I 
am sorry, I am indeed, that it is necessary for 
me to make matters any plainer to you than 
I have already, but as you insist upon it, I 
will do so. At the earliest possible moment,” 
he continued with emphasis, “I intend to 
prove in the courts that the original of the 
miniature I spoke of is your father; in other 
words, that your mother was an adulteress.” 

As quick as a flash the girl sprang to her 
feet and stood facing her tormentor. All the 
suppressed hatred of years, born of his cruelty 
towards her mother and the torture of her- 
self, was by his foul accusation kindled to a 
white heat. 

“Do you mean to tell me,” she almost 
shrieked, “that you intend to drag my pure 


34 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


mother’s name through the filth of a public 
court, and by perjuring yourself bring dis- 
grace on her sacred memory? Do you mean 
that, you scoundrel?” 

“I mean exactly what I said,” he replied in 
the suavest tone imaginable. 

^ sK >!« ❖ iJs 

That night Katherine heard the old clock 
on the stairs ring out all the hours. Its deep 
sonorous tones vibrated in every nook and 
corner of the spacious hall, and sounded to 
her fevered imagination like the blows of some 
huge hammer falling upon the breast of an 
immense sheet of armor-plate. Sleep was a 
thing impossible. All night long she tossed 
restlessly, and seemed to see in the darkness, 
the evil sneering face of Montressor, as he 
made his monstrous accusation. The confi- 
dent tone of triumph in his hateful voice, as 
he unfolded his diabolical scheme, kept ring- 
ing in her ears. She could not down it. Only 
once, from sheer exhaustion, did she give way 
to a few moments’ restless slumber, but to 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


35 


wake again with a scream and the full reali- 
zation of the terrible scene she had gone 
through that afternoon and what was yet to 
come. 

She prayed, but derived no comfort. God 
seemed afar of¥ and deaf to all her pleadings 
in this, her veriest hour of need. It was long 
after the day had broken on her wretchedness 
that she succumbed to a sound and merciful 
sleep, — sweet and blessed relief, if only for the 
time being, to her well nigh maddened brain. 

At this same hour one of the negro ser- 
vants whose duty it was to care for the lawn 
in front of the house, was starting out to his 
work. As he passed the windows of Mr. 
Montressor’s private office he noticed that 
they had not been closed the night before, and, 
suspecting burglary, he raised himself by 
means of a water barrel which stood at the 
corner of the house, and looked curiously 
into the room. 

No sooner had he done so than, with all the 
terror peculiar to his race, he dropped to the 


36 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


ground, and ran as fast as his shaking legs 
could carry him to tell of the ghastly sight 
which had met his eyes. 

The door of the office was forced, and there, 
lying stiff and rigid on the floor, was the life- 
less body of Richard Montressor. 

Near the right hand was found a small self- 
cocking Smith and Wesson pistol, and from 
a bullet hole in the right temple the blood 
had oozed and congealed on the side of the 
head and on the carpet. 

The desk in the centre of the room was 
strewn with various papers relative to the 
large indebtedness of the dead man, and in 
his left hand was tightly clenched a copy of 
the will of the late Robert Faulkner. 

After these and many other points which 
had no bearing on the case whatever were 
carefully weighed in the massive brains of 
twelve individuals dignified by the name of 
the coroner’s jury they succeeded in agreeing 
on the following very original verdict: 

“We find that the deceased met his death 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


37 


from a wound inflicted by a weapon in his 
own hands, for causes unknown to this jury/’ 
******* 

Just two weeks later, one bleak, stormy 
night, as the old clock was ringing out the 
hour before twelve, a great key was turned 
in its lock on the massive doors of the old 
mansion; and they have never been opened to 
this day. 


CHAP. IV. 


Late one autumn afternoon, two girls might 
have been seen in a large roomy studio in one 
of the more fashionable apartment houses in 
the City of New York. It had grown too dark 
to paint and a palette with brushes stuck 
through the thumb-hole had been carelessly 
thrown on the floor by the side of a divan on 
which, amidst a pile of many colored cushions, 
one of the girls was reclining. The other was 
seated at a piano, near by, softly playing some 
of the beautiful strains from Faust. On an 
easel in the center of the room stood an un- 
finished picture. It was not large nor far ad- 
vanced, but showed, by its freshness of color 
and decisive stroke, the hand of a master. 

The walls were hung with various sketches 
in oil and charcoal, and on the floor lay many 
Eastern rugs and skins, giving the place an 



Often she would go in the afternoons 



WOULD ANY MAN? 


39 


air of ease and comfort. In one corner a 
large open fire was burning brightly, throw- 
ing its soft light out upon the surrounding 
objects and staining the sombre grey of the 
twilight with rich mellow tones of yellows and 
reds. 

The doors and windows were hung in heavy 
dark green stuffs of a silky texture; and vari- 
ous pieces of old-fashioned furniture were 
placed here and there to cut off some obtru- 
sive corner, or act as pedestals for numerous 
casts from the works of masters past and 
present. 

The soft strains from the piano gradually 
died away and the player turned toward the 
divan. 

‘T thought you were asleep, dear,” she said 
with a smile, “you were keeping so very quiet. 
But Faust always has that effect on you, hasn't 
it? I ought not to play it. Shall I play you 
something brighter?” 

“No, Agnes,” Katherine replied dreamily, 
“I love Faust. No matter what my mood 


40 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


may be, it seems to fit in without one discord- 
ant note. But sometimes — ’’ 

“Sometimes what, dear?” the other girl 
asked letting her hands fall from the keys. 

“Sometimes it makes me feel as if there was 
something wanting in my life. I cannot de- 
fine it. I do not even know what it is.” 

Agnes rose and came across the floor. She 
seated herself on a low stool by the side of the 
divan and put her head in Katherine’s lap. 

Agnes was a frail little woman with an ap- 
pealing kind of beauty. A sweet, sympathetic 
nature, always attractive to a stronger one. 
Katherine put her hand out and stroked the 
fluffy golden head in her lap. 

“I ought to long for nothing while I have 
you and my work,” she said softly. 

Agnes raised her wide-opened blue eyes 
and looked up into her friend’s face with a 
pleading expression. 

“Katherine,” she said at last, “I wish you 
would fall in love with some great, good man. 
A noble character worthy of your own. I 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


41 


know you will be famous some day. Your 
work has genius in it. All the critics say so. 
You would be so happy married to such a man. 
You would inspire one another to accomplish 
great and noble things.” 

A smile played around Katherine’s lips for 
a few seconds, then her expression changed 
to one in which fear, grief, pain, and horror 
were so commingled that her companion gazed 
at her wonderingly. She soon, however, mas- 
tered the emotions which had taken possession 
of her, and, noticing the perplexed look on 
Agnes’ face, tried to say in her usual tone: 

''Oh, no, Agnes, dear, I am not the woman 
for that. I shall never love nor marry any 
man.” 

"Katherine,” Agnes asked softly, "was 
there ever any one you did love, and did he 
die?” 

Katherine bent and kissed the upturned 
forehead. 

"No, dear,” she replied, "I have never been 
in love with any one.” 


42 


(\^OULD ANY MAN? 


“And have you never thought that you 
would like to love some great, good man and 
have him love you? Most girls have.” 

Katherine rose slowly to her feet. 

“I am not like other girls, Agnes,” she said 
wearily. “You are the one to marry a great, 
good man. I must put all of that out of my 
life.” 


CHAP. V. 


A short time after her arrival in New York, 
Katherine had taken the studio which we 
have seen, with an adjoining apartment, and 
had entered one of the best art schools in 
the city. She threw herself, heart and soul, 
into her work, striving each day to approach, 
step by step, the goal of her ambition and 
finding in her labors the only happiness which 
life held for her. 

Incessant study and capacity for work soon 
asserted themselves and it was not many 
months before she was acknowledged to be 
the strongest student in the class. 

Popularity among those with whom she 
studied had never been hers from the first 
day she had entered the school. For the dev- 
otees of so called Bohemia around her, she 
seemed too cold and haughty. She mingled 


44 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


but little with them, respecting too much the 
reputations of the acknowledged masters of 
the day, to care to hear them shattered by the 
veriest novices in art. 

The results from her honest study were 
ever a constant delight to her critic. Each 
sketch brought encouragement from his lips, 
each finished drawing his commendation and j 
approval. Her earnestness and application ; 
led to his giving much time to his criticism of j 
her work, and consequently she advanced rap- 
idly, more it was said than any student in the 
history of the school. 

With the closing of the life class for the 
day, Katherine’s study was seldom at an end. 
Often she would go in the afternoons to the 
galleries of the Metropolitan Museum, and 
there study for hours at a time the works of 
greater painters, and learned much from their 
technique and composition. 

One afternoon, as she was standing in front ^ 
of Lepage’s masterpiece, “Joan of Arc,” 
studying this great picture, her attention was 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


45 


' attracted by a girl entering from an adjoin- 
ing gallery. She was holding a catalogue in 
’ one hand and eagerly referring to it, then 
glancing from picture to picture, as if in 
search of one in particular. 

On noticing this, Katherine advanced and 
asked if she could be of any assistance. 

“If you will be so kind,^’ the girl replied, 

; her face lighting up as she spoke. “I am look- 
• ing for a canvas by Lepage. This is my first 
i visit here, and as I have heard so much about 
this picture I am very anxious to see it.’’ 

The sweet manners of the little stranger at- 
1 tracted Katherine at once, and after she was 
: shown the object of her search, the two talked 
; for some time on music and art in general. 

During their conversation, Katherine learned 
t that her new acquaintance had come to New 
I York to study music and that, although she 
I had but little knowledge of the painter’s art, 

: she was devoted to any and every thing per- 
) taining to it. 

■ Before they separated, Katherine extended 
I an invitation to her studio. “Come, and I 


46 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


will show you my poor efforts/’ she said in 
conclusion. “It may interest you to see how 
we go at it; at any rate, I have a piano, and you 
can play for me. I know you love your music. 
I can tell from the enthusiastic way you speak 
of it.” 

They parted after the studio address had 
been given and a promise of a visit in the 
near future had been received in return. 

A few days later the promise was fulfilled, 
and Katherine learned much about her new 
friend. She knew that she was a Virginian 
the first time she heard her speak, but did not 
dream that they had lived summer after sum- 
mer within a mile of one another and that 
Agnes was a niece of Colonel Brynn, who 
owned the adjoining place to the Manor; at 
least, what his many adversities and the war 
had left of it for him. 

All this, together with their music and art, 
made a bond of union between them and soon 
caused their acquaintance to rapidly grow into 
a deep and lasting friendship. 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


47 


Agnes became a frequent visitor to the stu- 
dio, and Katherine grew to expect a glimpse, 
; at least, of her bright face every other day 
i and to miss her greatly when demands on her 
time kept her away. 

After several months, Katherine persuaded 
Agnes to come and live in her apartments, 
but not, however, until she had consented to 
allow Agnes to bear her part of the expense. 
1 Katherine remonstrated much about this, say- 
ing that it made no difference. She had every- 
thing in the world she wanted. Agnes had so 
little, and that it would be a charity if she 
would come, for five big rooms with nobody 
but the servants to talk to were so lonely. 

Agnes listened to all this attentively. Her 
, big blue eyes filling with tears. She put her 
» arms around Katherine's neck, kissed her and 
I told her how good and kind she was and how 
i much she appreciated it all. She was sure 
! she never could have lived a whole winter in 
I that great, wicked city unless she had met her. 
I Katherine returned the embrace and told her 


i 


48 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


that she was the dearest little woman in the 
world. She, too, didn’t know what she would 
have done without her. Agnes’ proposition 
was finally, of necessity, consented to, and 
one day when she had brought some money 
instead of her check, which Katherine had 
said she always preferred having, the latter 
made some excuse by saying she thought a 
check was . so much nicer and cleaner. If 
Agnes didn’t mind she would like her to put 
the money in bank again when she went to 
her music lesson and let her have a check in- 
stead. 

And Agnes said that she, too, thought mo- 
ney was horrid stuff ; she was sure it spread all 
kinds of disease. That evening she brought 
her check to Katherine, written in a very large 
hand with a very black line under the signa- 
ture. Katherine waited until she had gone 
out of the room, and then tore it into very 
small pieces and threw it into the fire, as she 
had done with all the others. 

Agnes couldn’t understand why the little 
red figures at the bottom of the column in her 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


49 


bank book showed so much money to her 
credit. She was sure the bank was cheating 
itself, and she thought it would be only right 
to call attention to it. Katherine assured her 
with a smile that it was all right, that banks 
never did such things, and that she was a 
good manager to make her little funds go so 
far. 


CHAP. VI. 


The galleries of the National Academy of 
Design were crowded. The occasion was an ^ 
exhibition of portraits loaned by their various 
owners and sent from all parts of the country. ! 
Here were shown the works of such masters i 
as Sargent, Duran, Bonnat, Lefebvre, Con- j 
stant, and many others of the present day. 
The old masters, Rembrandt, Van Dyke, j 
Frans Hals, Valesquez, Holbein, Rubens, 
were also well represented. 

It was a treat for the lovers of art long to 
be remembered. A large placard at the door 
announced the fact that the receipts from the 
exhibition were to go for the benefit of a 
home for crippled children. It looked that 
afternoon as if all the crippled children in New 
York would be cured, and all the incurable 
ones would have an abundance of crutches for 
the rest of their natural liveg, 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


51 


Carriages were lined up on both sides of 
the street for blocks; and the people were 
pouring into the building as fast as the door- 
keeper could take their tickets. 

This was one of the few occasions of its 
kind when the discriminating public were not 
being robbed for “sweet Charity’s sake” and 
consequently they came en inasse. Some be- 
cause they loved art; others because they 
thought it was the thing to do; and still a few 
because they had purchased tickets from a 
charitable point of view and thought it was 
a pity not to use them. The exhibition had 
been advertised for some time before its open- 
ing, and Katherine had been looking forward 
to it with not a little pleasure. 

She had failed to purchase tickets before- 
hand, however, not dreaming that anything 
in the way of art would attract more than a 
corporal’s guard, and consequently she and 
Agnes had been doing the best they could, 
for twenty minutes or more, to get to the 
ticket office. 


52 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


“Don’t you think we had better put it off 
until to-morrow?” Agnes asked after some 
minutes of silence. 

“I’m afraid we will never get in there to- 
day, and, if we do, we won’t be able to see the 
pictures for the crowd. Come let us go home 
and wait until to-morrow. We can then see 
with so much more comfort.” 

Katherine assented, a little disappointed at 
not seeing what she had looked forward to 
for so long a time, and they worked their way 
out of the crowd and turned their footsteps 
homeward. 

“Oh! Miss Agnes,” old Mandy burst forth 
as they entered the door of Katherine’s apart- 
ments, “Der has bin de fines’ gent’m’n he’ah 
ter see you I eber laid my two eyes on. He 
wah perft’ly beauf’l, dat he wah. He seem 
awf’l sorry you wah out, too. He’s ckard’s dar 
on de tabul. He cert’ny wah beauf’l. What 
a gran’ husban’ he’d make fer one ob you 
yourig ladies. He minded me ob Massa 
Robert when he wah young, dat he did, Miss 



“ MANDV is right, HK is a ‘ BEAr i Y.’ ” 






WOULD ANY MAN? 


53 


Katherine. He wah de fines* ^ent*m*n Fse 
seen in dis heah city since Fse bin he’ah, 
scusan nobody.** 

“I wonder who it could have been Kath- 
erine?** Agnes said with some surprise, cross- 
ing the hall to get the card as she spoke. 
“Oh! look here,** she exclaimed, “isn*t this 
delicious. It was Mr. Gordon; he*s a man I 
met down in Virginia three or four summers 
ago. He was there, getting some facts for a 
story he was writing at the time. I*m so glad 
he*s coming back, Katherine, for I want you to 
meet him so much. Mandy is right, he is a 
beauty, and, unlike most handsome men, he 
has quantities of brains. He has already made 
a big reputation for himself by his writing, — 
and such a voice, — oh! Katherine, you just 
ought to hear him sing. Its divine. Mandy, 
did he say when he would be back?** 

“No, miss, he din* say, but I don* rek*n it*ll 
be long, miss, from de way he lu*k.** 

“I wonder how he knew I was in New 
York,** Agnes said, after she and Katherine 

3 


54 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


had had a good laugh at Mandy’s enthusiasm. 
“He’s a splendid fellow,” Agnes continued, 
putting her arm around Katherine and giving 
her a good squeeze. “I do so want you to 
meet him. I know you will like him. You 
couldn’t possibly help it. He has so much 
character and — ” 

“Well — and what?” Katherine asked with a 
smile. 

“And I know he will fall heels-over-head in 
love with you the instant he sees you.” 

“Don’t you think you are a little previous, 
dear?” Katherine replied, her face flushing 
slightly as she spoke. “He came to see you, 
not me. I doubt if he knows I’m in exist- 
ence.” 

They had passed down the hallway and 
were now seated on an old-fashioned sofa, in 
the library. 

“Oh, y-e-s he does,” Agnes replied slowly. 
“He talked lots the summer I knew him 
about the beautiful Miss Montressor who al- 
ways had her mastiff with her. He used to 
steal down to the end of our place and wait 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


55 


for hours for you to come by on horseback. 
Uncle Jim would say that he certainly was 
a queer chap to sit out there with the ants 
and caterpillars when there were three big 
rooms in the house he could do his writing in. 
One night in the moonlight he got very con- 
fidential and told me that he intended to put 
you in a book some day. When I asked him 
to describe you, he expressed great surprise 
that we were not acquainted. I think he had 
visions of my taking him over to your place. 
Then he started to compare you to one of the 
goddesses — IVe forgotten which one — when 
Uncle Jim came out on the porch and asked 
him if he wouldn’t come in and have a julep. 
He couldn’t very well refuse. It broke us all 
up.” 

‘‘Are you quite sure, my little lady,” Kath- 
erine asked, taking Agnes’ hand in hers, “that 
someone hasn’t a soft spot in her heart some- 
where for this very talented knight of the 
pen.” 

“Oh! Katherine, how ridiculous; why of 
course not,” Agnes said, perking up her little 


56 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


mouth and trying to look very serious. “We 
were of necessity thrown a great deal to- 
gether; then, too, we were both musical, and 
that’s all there was to it. Purely platonic, I 
assure you. But won’t he be surprised to see 
you here,” she continued, her face lighting up. 
“He has no idea that I know you. This 
world is a small place, after all, isn’t it Kath- 
erine?” 

“Yes, dear,” Katherine answered wearily, 
“it is and a very sad one for some of us.” 

Agnes leaned and placed one arm around 
her companion’s neck. The expression which 
had now become so familiar to her had re- 
turned once more and brought with it the 
lines of pain and sorrow. 

“Tell me Katherine, tell me what it is? It 
nearly breaks my heart to see you look that 
way.” 

Katherine drew the sweet, sympathetic face 
down close to her breast and pressed her lips 
against the golden hair. 

“No, dear,” she murmured softly, “my bur- 
den must be borne alone.” 


CHAP. VII. 


The next morning, Katherine attracted no 
little attention as she and Agnes walked into 
the main gallery of the Art Academy. 

Her tailor-made gown of black broad-cloth 
seemed a very simple affair to the uninitiated, 
but to those of more experienced judgment in 
such matters, it showed the workmanship of 
a master-hand. The long simple folds of the 
skirt swayed gracefully to the motion of her 
step and the coat, which was swinging open, 
disclosed a vest of brilliant crimson intensify- 
ing the lustre of her dark eyes and deepening 
the rich brown tones of her hair. 

On her head she wore a large Gainsborough 
hat covered with nodding ostrich plumes, and 
in one hand she carried a thin and tightly 
rolled umbrella, the handle of which was sur- 
mounted with a knob of dark blue Dresden. 


58 


WOtJLD ANY MAN? 


She seemed totally unconscious of the many 
eyes directed towards her and of the stir her 
entrance caused. 

In going the rounds of the galleries, Kath- 
erine explained to Agnes the masterly parts 
of technique in the pictures, from a painter’s 
point of view. The two girls seated them- 
selves on a sofa in front of one of Sargent’s 
portraits, that of a young girl with large 
dreamy eyes and a pallid complexion. 

“Isn’t it wonderful how he can paint so 
simply,” Katherine said, referring to her cata- 
logue to see whose portrait it was. 

“Her name is not given here. It just says 
portrait of ‘Miss C.’ I wonder if she really 
was as beautiful as that. Arn’t those eyes soft 
and dreamy? Her very soul seems to shine 
through them. Oh, how I would love to do 
that. I would give years of my life if I could 
only keep my technique as simple.” 

She rose and walked close to the canvas in 
order to see how the painter had obtained his 
effect. “That shadow on the arm is one con- 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


59 


tinuoiis stroke from the wrist to the elbow,” 
she said, reseating herself as she spoke. ‘‘He^s 
marvelous. I can’t imagine how he ever ac- 
complishes such results with apparently so 
little effort.” 

“It is very beautiful,” Agnes replied, “and 
it must be delightful to be able to do it. I 
know of no life that should be happier than 
that of a painter, and yet, I suppose the work 
of a true artist never satisfies him. They 
seem to be very much like musicians in that 
respect — continually striving for something 
which they never attain. The painting must 
necessarily fall very far short of nature itself. 
Does it not?” 

“Yes,” Katherine replied, “even under the 
hand of the greatest. You have here some of 
the finest examples of the best painters of the 
day, and yet look how lifeless they seem com- 
pared to the people that are standing around 
them. It is impossible to carry art further 
than a certain point, and that is very far short 
of nature. White is all we have with which 


6o 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


to represent pure light, and it is a poor sub- 
stitute, but then we have the advantage in 
being able to improve on the proportions of 
the human figure. Few, if any, persons of to- 
day are proportioned according to the ideas 
of the old Greek sculptors. I am afraid some 
of our society women who are accredited with 
fine figures are very sorry sights when stripped 
of their raiment.” 

“Yes,” Agnes replied thoughtfully, “clothes 
have a great deal to do with it, haven’t they?” 

“And ye^ Venus was a success,” Katherine 
said smilingly. “Come, let us go into the other 
gallery,” she continued, “I am afraid it is al- 
most time we were leaving. I want to take 
a good look at the Rembrandts before we go.” 

They walked into the adjoining room, which 
was entirely empty with the exception of two 
or three long-haired art students who were 
posing in front of some of the pictures at the 
further end of the gallery and screwing their 
faces up into all sorts of contortions, with 
eyes closed to the merest slit to get “the ef- 
fect,” as they call it, 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


6l 


‘^It’s wonderful how some of these pictures 
keep their brilliancy,” Katherine said, as she 
and Agnes stood in front of one of Rem- 
brandt’s works. '‘This one is at least two 
hundred years old and yet it looks as though 
it were painted yesterday. These old fellows 
surely had some secret for grinding their 
colors which is unknown to the manufacturers 
of to-day. Just look how rich those reds are. 
I hardly think the works of our present mas- 
ters will look as fresh two hundred years 
hence.” 

Just then a tall, broad-shouldered man of 
about thirty years of age entered the gallery 
by the same door through which the girls had 
come. His face was clean shaven with the 
exception of a small moustache which was 
carefully trimmed and somewhat darker than 
the hair in color, his eyes were large and in- 
telligent, his nose slightly of the Roman type 
and finely chiseled. He wore a black Prince 
Albert coat and trousers of a lighter material. 
In his right hand he held his hat, and in the 


62 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


other a pair of undressed kid gloves of a light 
greyish tone. He did not notice the two girls, 
who were standing some distance from the 
door, and, turning to the left, the opposite di- 
rection from the one they had taken, was soon 
absorbed in the pictures and apparently ob- 
livious to everything else around him. 

“Come, we must go, Agnes; its half past one 
now,” Katherine said, looking at her watch. 
“I have an engagement with a model at three, 
and I don’t want to be late. It is dark so soon 
now in the afternoon that one hardly has time 
to get well started on a study before the light 
fails. We can come again to-morrow and as 
often as you like afterwards. I never get tired 
of looking at good pictures, but I’m afraid 
standing so long this morning has over-taxed 
your strength. You look fatigued.” 

“But I’m not, though,” her companion an- 
swered, “I love to hear you talk art and do 
believe if I did not have my music I would try 
to learn something about drawing myself. It 
takes a life-time, though, to accomplish any- 
thing in either and I am very much afraid — 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


63 


As she turned she recognized the tall figure 
of the man standing on the opposite side of 
the gallery. 

“There’s Mr. Gordon, now,” she whispered 
quickly to Katherine. “He must have seen us. 
I think it would only be civil in him to come 
over and speak, to say the least of it, after I sat 
for hours listening to his tiresome old manu- 
script and pulled down all the dusty books in 
the library to help him with some dates for his 
novel. That’s just like a man. I hope his old 
book wasn’t a success. It would serve him 
right.” 

Katherine could not help giving a slight 
laugh, which, owing to the emptiness of the 
gallery at the time, sounded much louder than it 
would have otherwise done. It attracted Gor- 
don’s attention and he turned to see its origin. 
Recognizing Agnes, he started across the 
room to speak to her. 

Katherine moved some little distance away 
and interested herself in a picture by Holbein. 
Her face was turnd away from Gordon, and 


64 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


he did not recognize her by her figure, which 
had rounded and become more womanly 
since he had last seen her. 

“Why, I am delighted to see you,” Gordon 
said, coming up to where Agnes was standing 
and holding out his hand to her as he spoke. 
“It seems an age since I spent those very 
pleasant weeks in Virginia with you and your 
uncle. How long has it really been? A good 
five years, I am sure.” 

“Just three this last July,” Agnes replied, 
with a smile. “Does time really hang so heav- 
ily on your hands?” she asked, looking up into 
his face with a quizzical expression. “If so, 
I think I can devise a plan to make it go more 
rapidly.” 

“No, I can’t say that it does exactly,” Gor 
don replied, not catching the drift of her re- 
mark; “I am always pegging away at some- 
thing and basking in the pleasures of hope. 
It’s a long road that has no turning, you 
know.” 

“I think yours has several very decided 
ones,” she replied, “I am afraid you will never 


WOULD ANY MAN? 65 

be satisfied until you make the sun rise in the 
west/' 

Gordon acknowledged the compliment gra- 
ciously, and she continued: 

“How did you know I was in New York, 
and how did you know my address? I should 
think it would be hard to find a very little girl 
like me in a very big city like this?" 

“It hasn’t proven so this morning," he said 
laughingly. 

“No, I suppose I am like the proverbial bad 
pennies. One is bound to run across them 
sooner or later. Oh, I know," she exclaimed, 
“you heard from Uncle Jim. He wrote me 
that he had received a letter from you, and 
that you would be back in New York about 
this time." 

“Exactly so, and I hadn’t been here three 
days before I looked you up." 

“I see you still know how to say pretty 
things," she said smilingly, “it’s a bad habit." 

“Pardon me," he said, “I will try to do 
better in the future. And your Uncle, — how 


66 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


is he? I was very sorry that it was impossible 
for me to accept his kind invitation last sum- 
mer.” 

“Oh, he’s very well, thank you,” she replied; 
“he’s always well.” 

“And the beautiful Miss Montressor, does 
she still ride around the country in big pic- 
turesque black hats ?” 

“No, she has given up the riding,” Agnes 
replied laughingly, “but she still wears the 
big picturesque black hats. Come, I want to 
introduce you to a friend of mine who knows 
her very well.” 

They crossed over to where Katherine was 
standing. 

“Miss Montressor,” Agnes said as Kather- 
ine turned, “let me introduce Mr. Gordon,” 



SWAVKD GRACEFULLY TO THE MOTION OF HER STEP 




CHAP. VIIL 


“No, I can't say that I do, Agnes, he’s like 
most of the literary people I have met — very 
much self-centered, and, it struck me, some- 
what narrow minded. He talked nothing but 
self all the way home. Perhaps I am a little 
hasty in forming an opinion. I suppose it isn’t 
exactly fair to criticise until we know more 
about the object of our criticism.” 

“Yes, I know what you mean,” Agnes re- 
sponded in a disappointed tone, “but I do not 
think he was exactly himself this afternoon. 
He seemed a little out of sorts, and then, too, 
he was at a considerable disadvantage; just 
imagine having ‘a goddess of the night’ 
sprung on you without the slightest warning. 
It was enough to frighten any man.” 

“Having a what sprung on you?” Kather- 
ine asked eagerly. 

“A goddess of the night,” her companion 
replied, “that’s what he used to call you, when 


68 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


you would come dashing by on your ‘black 
charger/ as he expressed it.” 

Katherine broke forth in a merry little 
laugh. 

“Well,” she exclaimed, “he didn’t seem to 
care to worship at her shrine this afternoon, — 
the capital ‘F seemed to be his only idol. I 
do believe at times he was entirely unaware 
of our presence. He asked me two or three 
questions in a patronizing kind of a way, and 
before I had time to answer he was talking 
about something else. I thought he never 
would go, too. Why don’t people come in 
instead of keeping one standing at the door, 
and why do they say good-bye if they don’t 
intend to go? I asked him in as cordially as 
I knew how, and he wouldn’t do one thing or 
the other.” 

“Well, dear,” Agnes responded, “as I said 
before, I think he was at a disadvantage. He 
has always impressed me as a man who would 
wear well. It isn’t fair to judge people too 
quickly; the first impression is often a mis- 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


69 


taken one. The very people who sometimes 
make our dearest and truest friends have not 
impressed us favorably at first; and, on the 
contrary, there are those who attract us on 
first acquaintance, but who bitterly disappoint 
when brought face to face with the graver 
questions of life. Don’t you think so?” 

“Undoubtedly, my little philosopher,” Kath- 
erine answered. “I think you are right, and 
I am sorry I formed any opinion about Mr. 
Gordon. Then, too, I am afraid, I am not a 
fair judge. I have known few men during — ” 
Her sentence was cut short by a timid ring 
at the outer door-bell of the studio. She rose 
and went to see who it was. 

“Is this Miss Montressor?” a delicate look- 
ing woman asked, producing a card with some 
writing on it addressed to Katherine, who 
read it and asked the new-comer in. 

She was a woman of about twenty-five years 
of age, taller than the average, with a wealth 
of reddish brown hair, combed back from the 
forehead, and coiled in a big knot at the back 


70 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


of the head. Her eyes were large and grey, 
and drooped at the corners, which gave them 
a very sad Madonna-like expression. The 
other features were clean cut and refined, the 
teeth very white and regular. She was well 
dressed, and had the bearing of one who 
should be in a higher station of life. 

Katherine asked her to be seated, and re- 
plied, in answer to an inquiry whether she 
wanted a model, that she did for a picture she 
intended to paint for the spring exhibition. 

“My subject will be taken from Haw- 
thorne’s ‘Scarlet Letter’,” she said, “and I 
would like you to pose for the figure of ‘Hes- 
ter Prynne.’ Your head is very much the 
type.” 

A bitter smile played around the woman’s 
lips. She gave Katherine an inquiring look, 
then said : 

“I have posed for a great many of the art- 
ists, sometimes for the head and — and some- 
times for the figure. They all say I make a 
good model and fall back into the pose easily. 
When would you want me?” 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


71 


Katherine told her that she would like to 
start as soon as possible; the next day, if she 
could come. They arranged for the first pose. 
The woman put down the time in a small note- 
book. Thanking and assuring Katherine 
that she would be punctual, she left the room. 

“That woman has an interesting face,” 
Katherine said when she heard the door of 
i the elevator close. “She looked to me as if 
! she had met with some great sorrow. I would 
; hardly take her to be the kind who would pose 
[ for the figure. She seemed so refined. I 
! couldn’t imagine what she wanted at first. I 
thought probably she was someone I had met 
I in the schools and forgotten.” 

1 “Oh, I think it’s dreadful,” responded 
5 Agnes, in a sorrowful tone ; “why can’t artists 
\ learn to draw without studying from the nude. 

[ Can’t they learn as much from a draped figure 
or a cast?” 

i “No,” Katherine answered, “the study from 
[ the nude is indispensable. The figure painter 
i must have a good foundation for his work, 


72 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


which is only obtained by long and earnest 
study of this kind. He would not be able to 
paint his draperies correctly unless he was 
thoroughly familiar with the formation of the 
bones and muscles beneath them. His figures 
would not live, they would not look like real 
beings.” 

“But, Katherine, your figures seem to live 
and — and you have never studied from the 
nude.” 

Her face was so pure, so earnest, as she 
asked the question, and so confident of a neg- 
ative reply, that Katherine hesitated some 
little time before she responded. What, if 
Agnes should deem this wrongful, would she 
think if she should ever learn the cause of all 
her mental suffering? The thought oppressed 
her. A great lump rose in her throat. 

“Before I answer your question,” Kather- 
ine said at last, “I would like to ask you one: 
Is not dissection, looking at it from a moral 
standpoint, as bad, if not worse, than studying 
from the nude?” 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


73 


“No/' Agnes answered promptly, “dissec- 
tion is for the good of suffering humanity.” 

“And do you not think that art is for the 
same purpose? Is it not the arts and 
sciences of a nation that mark its progress? 
Force and right are the governors of the 
world. How great a power lies in the force 
of the beautiful when expressed through the 
fine arts — the noblest of them all. *A thing 
; of beauty is a joy for ever.' It not only in- 
! spires, but purifies. What nation in the an- 
nals of history has ever arrived at any height 
of civilization before it has produced master- 
i pieces of art in sculpture or in painting?” 

Agnes was beyond her depth. She strug- 
gled back bravely and did her best to hold up 
\ her side of the argument. 

“How could you expect me to draw at all, 

■ Agnes, if I hadn't studied from the nude. It 
I was only just before I met you that I gave it 
' up to see if I could put what I had learned 
into practical use by painting some finished 
; canvases in my studio. All women painters 


74 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


of any note have studied from the nude. 
It doesn’t seem to have hurt them morally, 
but only to have rounded out their charac- 
ters.” 

“Well, Katherine, dear,” Agnes said finally, 
“I hope you are not vexed, — I really don’t 
know anything about it. I suppose I should 
have considered the end before the means, 
and I know if you have done it, it must be 
right.” 


CHAP. IX. 


Two months have passed since the chance 
meeting at the loan exhibition, 
j Gordon’s visits to the studio have been very 
frequent and the three have been thrown 
I much together. 

i Katherine had found him, as Agnes had ex- 
1 pressed it on the first day of their meeting, 
j “a man who wore well.” What, at first, had 
seemed to her to be egotism had disappeared 
on closer acquaintance, and if she had any 
lingering doubts as to his conceit they were 
quickly dispelled when she saw the constant 
struggle he was making against being lion- 
ized, and how he refused invitation after invi- 
tation in order to take long walks with her 
or Agnes, in search of local color. 

Often towards the close of the afternoons, 
w'hen the day’s work was finished in the stu- 
dio, he would drop in and have a chat. And 


76 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


sometimes when Agnes was out he and Kath- 
erine would sit in front of the big log fire and 
discuss their many plans for future work. 

She felt herself drifting into a more than 
friendly feeling for him, and he, on his part, 
made no attempt to conceal the happiness he 
derived from being in her presence, and the 
intense interest he took in her work and all 
that concerned her. 

One Friday, when Gordon had been called 
out of town unexpectedly and had failed to 
appear at the “Afternoon’" in the studio which 
she had arranged for that evening of each 
week, Katherine caught herself wondering 
where he could be, and — yes — worrying a 
little, too. Unconsciously she had looked 
forward to seeing him all day, and had 
thought of the pleasure it would give him to 
hear the violinist whom Agnes had persuaded 
to come and play. 

As she sat listening to the beautiful strains 
of Chopin’s II. nocturn pouring forth from 
the violin under the hand of a master, she sud- 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


77 


denly became aware that Gordon’s absence 
made more difference to her than she had sup- 
posed it would. A want of something to make 
her pleasure complete, an ache of disappoint- 
ment in her heart, could mean but one thing. 
The realization of her love for him had come 
upon her at last with a fullness of conviction 
which left no room for doubt. She was con- 
scious now of what it was her life had lacked, 
and knew that the man she loved was worthy 
of it all. 

During the next few weeks she felt, at times, 
intense happiness followed always by over- 
whelming despair. It seemed so hard, so 
cruelly hard, that she should put this great 
happiness out of her life, and yet she knew the 
longer she drifted on into a fool’s paradise, 
the harder would be the end which she felt 
must come at last. 

Had she considered herself alone, she would 
have eagerly taken as much time as Fate 
would grant, but she knew that by delay she 
only made it harder for Gordon to bear when 
he should learn the truth, 


78 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


She made many plans and finally decided 
that it would be best to go abroad with Agnes. 
By putting the breadth of the ocean between 
herself and Gordon and remaining away for 
an indefinite period, she would give him the 
opportunity to forget her and to fill the place 
which she now held in his life. 

One day she spoke to Gordon about this, 
saying that she thought it would be so much 
better for Agnes to study abroad, where she 
would have more advantages. 

He agreed with her at once, and said it 
would be best, he thought, for both of them, 
and that he would go over, too, and take care 
of them while they were there, and get a 
little room down in the Latin Quarter, where 
he could write short stories about the long- 
haired art students who do little but sit around 
the cafes and look picturesque until their last 
sou is spent, and then “pan” off some worth- 
less copy on an unsuspecting American. 

Katherine saw that all her plans were use- 
less. She realized that he would follow hei 



In search of locai- color. 








Would any man? 


79 


wherever she went and that they would be 
thrown more together in a strange country 
than in New York, where they both had other 
associates. She, therefore, determined to re- 
main where she was and to tell Gordon, at 
the first opportunity, that he must discontinue 
his visits and forget all about her. 

As hard as all this was, she thought it would 
be best for him. 

She feared herself, and for that reason de- 
cided to make the sacrifice. 


CHAP. X. 


Katherine’s picture of the ‘'Scarlet Letter” 
was nearly completed. She had framed it, in 
order to see where to strengthen and accent, 
before varnishing for the exhibition. 

She was now alone in her studio, viewing 
her work from a distance, with a dejected 
expression and an air of disappointment. 

“He will not like it,” she said to herself, 
“how could he after spending years in Paris. 
I will never do anything, I might as well give 
up. There is no use in me trying. The fig- 
ures are stiff and bad in action, the colors, 
muddy and lifeless.” She then drew the dra- 
pery, shutting the picture from view, and took 
up a portfolio containing her studies. She sat 
for some time, turning over the drawings and 
selecting the ones she thought would be of 
use in future works. After they had been 
placed in a pocket of the portfolio by them- 




! WOULD ANY MAN? 8 1 

I 

selves she again returned to her easel and 
j drew back the drapery, 
j “No, there is no use in me trying to de- 
ceive myself. It is a bad piece of work, and all 
my labor has been wasted.'’ She then se- 
lected a large brush from a lot that were 
standing in a jar by the side of her easel, and 
filled it full of color. She stepped back once 
I more before carrying out her impulse of de- 
j stroying the picture. 

; “No," she said to herself, as she replaced 

i j the palette on the floor, “I will see what he has 
I to say, first. Perhaps the defects magnify 
I themselves in my eyes because I have looked 
I at it too much. There may be some good 
I there, after all." She took the picture from 
the easel and placed it on the floor, with its 
1 face to the wall. 

I Two afternoons later, she was again alone 
I in her studio, painting some still-life for the 
I sake of study, when old Mandy made her ap- 
\ pearance in the doorway. 

1 “Mr. Gordon is in de libery. Miss Kath- 
1 erine; shall I awsk him in?" 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


S2 


“Oh!” Katherine exclaimed, “wait one mo- 
ment, Mandy.” 

She quickly crossed the room and, bringing 
her picture of the “Scarlet Letter,” she placed 
it on the easel instead of the still-life study on 
which she had been working. 

“Now you may ask Mr. Gordon in,” she 
said to Mandy, who was still standing in the 
doorway. She had just pulled the drapery 
around the picture when Gordon entered. 

“I am afraid I will wear my welcome out 
if I have not done so already,” he said, as he 
came into the studio. “Do you know, this is 
the third time I have been here in the past 
week.” 

“And do you keep a record of the number 
of your visits,” she said smilingly as she 
advanced to meet him. 

“Not exactly, but trespassers, you know, 
are generally endowed with guilty conscien- 
ces.” 

“I am always glad to see you, as you know, 
or you wouldn’t talk that way,” she replied. 


WOULD ANY MAN? 83 

“and I am particularly so this afternoon, for 
I have something I want to show you.” 

“A new picture?” 

“Yes, and before I show it to you, you must 
promise to give me an unbiased criticism.” 

“I do,” Gordon replied solemnly. 

“If you stand here you will get the best 
efiect,” she said, “that is if it happens to con- 
tain any at all.” 

She then parted the drapery and stood back 
j to await anxiously his criticism, 
i “Well,” she said, after a short pause, “what 
; do you think of it? Remember your prom- 
i ise.” 

:i 

i “Miss Montressor,” Gordon said, “I am 
' surprised. I had no idea you could paint like 
j that. It is a marvelous piece of work, and 
j I say it in all sincerity. How did you ever 
’ accomplish that expression of mingled re- 
j morse and defiance on the face of Hester 
j Prynne.” 

At his words of praise, all the defects which 
had before seemed so glaring vanished in an 


84 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


instant. She felt that her highest ambition 
had been achieved. He had praised her 
work in the warmest terms. What difference 
did it make what others thought? He was 
pleased — that was sufficient for her. 

have my model to thank for the most of 
it,” she replied, in a tone of suppressed joy. 
*‘She has one of the most interesting heads 
I ever painted. The model does the greater 
part of the work, anyhow,” she continued; “so 
much depends on having one who takes an 
interest in what you are doing, and enters in- 
to the spirit of it.” 

“Yes, I should think that would be the 
greater part of the battle,” he replied, thought- 
fully, “but then, too, the painter must have a 
great deal of knowledge and taste, to accom- 
plish what you have done here.” 

“I put my best work on the figure of Hes- 
ter,” Katherine replied, “and those grim-look- 
ing old Puritans by the scaffold there, — they 
gave me much more trouble than she did, 
however. My model was such a true type for 


WOULD ANY MAN? 85 

her figure, that I only had to make a good 
portrait to accomplish what I wanted.” 

“Her face is very familiar to me,” he said, 
after he had stepped up to the picture and ex- 
amined it closely. “Where could I have seen 
it before?” 

“I hardly think any place,” Katherine said; 
“she came here one afternoon with a card 
from a student at the ‘League,’ and asked if 
I could use her as a model. She seems to be 
far superior to the average, and so gentle and 
refined in her manners, that I have really be- 
come very much attached to her. She is com- 
ing again to-morrow, to let me put the finish- 
ing touches on the draperies.” 

“You know,” she continued after a short 
pause, “you unconsciously complimented me 
when you said that her face seemed familiar 
to you, never having seen the original. It 
shows that I have put some life in my painting 
or it would not seem familiar.” 

“And I can sincerely compliment you con- 
sciously,” Gordon replied; “I think it is a 

splendid piece of work.” 

4 


86 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


Just then old Mandy entered the studio, 
with her arms full of logs. She made the best 
courtesy she could under the circumstances 
and started across the room with her burden. 

“Let me help you with that, Mandy,” Gor- 
don said, as he advanced towards her. “I’m 
afraid it’s too heavy for you, you’ll break your 
poor old back.” 

“Law, Massa Gordon,” she said, her honest 
black face lighting up as she spoke, “you’d 
get your han’som coat all sp’ilt and that 
would neber do. I’se a heap stronger than 
you t’inks I is, sah, I’se gettin’ old, I knows 
dat, but der’s right smart strength lef’ in me 
yit.” 

“You know,” Gordon said, after Mandy had 
stirred the fire and left the room, “I never 
can see an older person of any kind carry a 
heavy weight that I don’t want to stop and 
help them with it.” 

“Mandy ought not to do it,” Katherine said, 
“but there is not much use in me telling her 
about it. She never minds what I say in mat- 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


87 


ters of this kind. I do believe she thinks I 
am not a day older than when she used to 
rock me to sleep in my cradle.” 

‘‘She is not a connoisseur in art, then?” he 
asked laughingly. 

“Not exactly.” 

“It was only last week,” he said after a 
short pause, “that I met a poor old fellow, 
bent nearly double with rheumatism, stagger- 
ing under the weight of a heavy trunk, which 
he was endeavoring to carry out to the curb, 
to place with the rest of his dilapidated be- 
longings, It did my heart good to see his 
gratitude after I had helped him. I have for- 
gotten exactly how many ‘God bless yous’ he 
bestowed upon my head, but I am sure it was 
five at least. I asked him if he was moving. 
It was very obvious that he was, but I had to 
say something after all the blessings he had 
showered upon me. He told me, with tears 
in his eyes, that his landlord — a very gruflf- 
looking fellow, with a thick neck and short 
cropped hair, who was standing on the stoop 


88 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


at the time — had put him out for his rent, 
only due that morning, and in advance at that. 
It amounted to the miserable sum of four dol- 
lars a month.'^ 

“I asked him where he intended to go and 
found that he had no place and that his things 
would have to remain on the street until he 
could find somewhere to put them.” 

“How pathetic,” Katherine said sympathet- 
ically, “and what was the outcome of it all.” 

“Well, to cut a long story short, the brute 
of a landlord took exception to the things 
being left in front of the building, and showed 
his ire by dealing a pretty hard blow on the 
old man’s shoulder. That was just a little 
more, I think, than any man could stand, so 
I spent the next five minutes or so getting rid 
of some of my superfluous energy on the fel- 
low’s head. Probably he will be more polite 
to his tenants in future.” 

“What became of the old man,” Katherine 
asked, with much interest. 

“Oh, I helped him to move his goods and 
chattels into a room next door, which was for 


WOULD ANY MAN? 89 

rent. The landlord there seemed to be a little 
better sort. The old fellow comes hobbling 
up to see me every two or three days and 
begs me to let him work out the miserable 
little sum I gave him. I will have to find 
something for him to do, or I am afraid he 
will not let me help him again when his rent 
comes due. Don't you think you can use him 
as a model. He has a fine old head.” 

“Yes, I am sure I can,” Katherine answer- 
ed, only too glad of an opportunity to help 
some one in need. “Oh, I wish I was a man!” 
she exclaimed. “It must be delightful to meet 
with adventures like that.” 

“Yes,” Gordon replied, with a slight laugh, 
“it is rather interesting but, at the same time, 
a little risky. One never knows what he is 
getting into.” 

He drew up two large chairs, in front of the 
brightly burning fire. He and Katherine sat 
in front of it watching the blazing logs as they 
hissed and crackled, and the red flames leap- 
ing far up into the chimney. 


90 


(VOULD ANY MAN? 


Their conversation drifted back to art, and 
finally to Katherine's picture of the '‘Scarlet 
Letter." 

“I am sure it will make a stir in art cir- 
cles," Gordon said. “It is so much stronger 
than any of the other compositions I have 
seen on the same subject. You have carried 
out your ideas in an original way, which is 
very hard to do now-a-days. Your concep- 
tion of Hester Prynne is, to my mind, the true 
one. I have always thought of her as one 
who was more sinned against than sinning." 

“I am glad you like it," Katherine said. “I 
have put a great deal of time and thought on 
this work and have tried hard to avoid the 
conventional way of doing it." 

“And you have succeeded admirably," he 
broke in with enthusiasm. “The laurels you 
will win will compensate for all the pains you 
have taken. You did not introduce the char- 
acter of Dimmesdale," he continued. “I think 
it is best as you have it. So many painters who 
have attempted this subject seem to have 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


91 


thought it necessary to crowd in all the char- 
acters of the book, thereby weakening the en- 
semble and detracting from the principal 
figure — that of Hester. They should leave 
something for the imagination of the obser- 
ver.’^ 

“Dimmesdale has always been such a con- 
temptible character in my sight,” she said, 
“that I hesitated to attempt to paint him. 
Someone has said, I have forgotten who, ‘that 
artists should not paint subjects with which 
they are not in sympathy.’ I have never yet 
attempted one with which I was not in touch 
that I did not fail. Dimmesdalewas contempt- 
ible. I despise weakness in a man.” 

“And yet you surely have some sympathy 
for him. Do you not think that other motives 
than mere cowardice prompted him to pur- 
sue the course he did? He was undoubtedly 
doing lots of good among his people that would 
have been out of his power had he confessed 
his guilt from the beginning. His suffering 
was surely as great, if not greater, than hers. 


92 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


A secret crime gnawing at the heart and put- 
ting a nature at war with itself is certainly 
much harder to bear than one which has been 
confessed, even though it has not been for- 
given.” 

Katherine’s face grew white and rigid; her 
colorless lips trembled nervously; and her dark 
eyes, which were staring fixedly at Gordon, 
seemed twice their size in contrast to her 
pallid skin. 

He was bending forward and carelessly 
knocking back with the poker some hot ashes 
which had fallen on the hearth, and did not 
notice the ghastly change. Had he turned at 
that moment, he could not but have suspected 
a hidden secret in her life which she had 
striven so hard to keep from him. 

‘‘I do not mean to uphold Dimmesdale’s 
course altogether,” he said at length; ‘‘far 
from it, but, at the same time, I cannot see 
that it would have made matters any better for 
Hester had he spoken. It was unmistakably 
the author’s intention to convey to the minds 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


93 


of his readers that the points I spoke of a 
few moments ago had been weighed in the 
mind of the minister beforehand. Hard as it 
may seem, I have no doubt he thought he was 
acting for the best. If you remember, Dim- 
mesdale charges Hester after she had ascend- 
ed the scaffold to speak the name of the 
man.’’ 

Katherine had by this time, through sheer 
force of will, mastered her emotion. She felt 
that she could now speak without a tremor in 
her voice and without giving rise to any sus- 
picion on his part. 

^'Oh, yes,” she said slowly, he was appoint- 
ed to do it, and then too, he knew how deeply 
Hester loved him, and that he was safe in ask- 
ing her the question. I cannot see any ex- 
cuse for his cowardice. Why didn’t he stand 
up like a man and confess his share of their 
guilt? What right had he to make her bear 
the brunt of it all?” 

“Well,” Gordon replied good naturedly, “I 
am glad he didn’t in the book, for the world 


94 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


would then have been deprived of a very beau- 
tiful story, and you would never have painted 
your picture. It is an ill wind, indeed, that 
blows no one any good. I must be off now,” 
he continued, rising to his feet. 

The room had grown quite dark, and Kath- 
erine pretended not to see his hand held out 
to her, lest by bringing her own in contact 
with it he should discover how cold and ner- 
vous it was. 

“I have an engagement,” he said, as she 
rose, ‘‘to dine with a friend who has the 
adjoining apartmept to mine. I say a friend, 
but he is hardly more than an acquaintance. 
I don’t know anything in the world about him, 
except what I have seen. He seems to be a 
gentleman in a good many senses of the word, 
and, judging from the appearance of his 
rooms, I should say he is well off.” 

“What does he do?” Katherine asked care- 
lessly. 

“Oh, he is a scribe like myself,” Gordon 
said with a smile. “He brought one of his 



u 


He will not like it.” 











WOULD ANY MAN? 


95 


short stories to my study this morning, and 
asked me if I would read it and let him know 
this evening what I thought of it. The fellow, 
undoubtedly, has talent; but there is an inde- 
scribable something about him that I don’t 
like. He doesn’t seem exactly genuine. I am 
always suspicious, and probably sometimes 
unjustly so, of a man who does not look one 
straight in the face when talking. He has 
asked me several times to dine with him and 
I have never yet done so. I couldn’t very 
well get out of it this time without being 
beastly rude.” 

“Well, I’m really off now, and won’t bore 
you any longer,” he continued with one hand 
on the knob of the door ; “I will look forward 
with a great deal of pleasure to seeing your 
picture in the exhibition, and am sure it will 
carry off all the honors of the occasion.” 

Katherine returned his bow with a smile, 
as he closed the door behind him. 


CHAP. XL 


The next morning Katherine sat at her 
easel, putting the finishing touches on the 
figure of Hester Prynne. 

Cynthia, her model, was posing on the 
stand directly under the sky-light, in order to 
give Katherine the out-door effect which she 
wanted, and was relating some of her exper- 
iences in the studios where her face and form 
had been made immortal. 

Agnes had gone to her music lesson, and 
had not seen Katherine that morning. She 
had told Mandy not to wake her mistress, who 
had complained of feeling badly the night be- 
fore; but to let her sleep and to take her break- 
fast to her room when she should ring. All 
these orders had been strictly obeyed and it 
was nearer eleven o’clock than ten when 
Katherine entered her studio. 

Cynthia had already donned the costume of 
the Puritan woman and was sitting tailor- 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


97 


fashion on the rug by the hearth, reading a 
small volume of Ruskin on art. 

“Good-morning,’’ she said pleasantly, as 
she rose and replaced the book on the table. 
“You see I am all ready with the exception of 
the letter. I was afraid I wouldn’t get it on 
straight.” 

Katherine greeted her cordially and having 
fastened the letter on Cynthia’s breast, pro- 
ceeded to put out some fresh color on her 
palette and select the brushes she would need 
for the morning’s work. While she was thus 
occupied her model arranged her draperies 
as accurately as she could remember to the 
way they fell the time before, and then gath- 
ered up a cushion which was covered with a 
piece of loose material and tied so as to rep- 
resent the tiny figure of little Pearl. 

After the pose had been found, Katherine 
stood off for some moments from her picture, 
and looked at it critically with half closed eye. 
“I hardly think there is much I can do,” she 
said at last. “It has always been my principle 


98 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


to let well enough alone, at least I learned to 
after I had spoiled about thirty studies trying 
to improve them. It took me a long time to 
learn when to stop. Wait one moment, 
though, I think I will accent the skirt a little, 
it does not look quite strong enough for the 
rest of the figure.” 

“Don’t do anything to spoil it. Miss Kath- 
erine,” Cynthia said anxiously. “Do you 
know,” she continued, “that I almost feel as 
if I had painted this picture myself, I am so 
interested in it and shall be so proud when it 
is hanging on the line in the exhibition. All 
the critics will stand around it and say what 
a genius th^ artist is, and lots of other nice 
things too. Oh! Won’t it be fine? And the 
newspapers will give lots of space to writing 
it up — I know they will — and telling the peo- 
ple what a great artist has been discovered in 
New York. Please don’t do too much to it, 
Miss Katherine, I am so afraid you might 
spoil it. I know I ought not to talk to you 
this way, but I have seen so many artists lose 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


99 


the snap in their work by doing a little too 
much, that I am nervous about it** 

“You are right, Cynthia, Katherine re- 
plied, sticking her brushes through the 
thumb-hole of her palette and placing it on 
the floor by the side of the easel. 

“Ifs time for a rest,” she continued; “come 
and let me know if I have improved the skirt. 
You ought to be a good critic,* — you have 
seen a great many pictures and the ways of 
making them.” 

“Yes, miss, I think you have,” Cynthia 
said, coming around in front of the easel, “but 
I wouldn’t do any more to it, it is finished, 
and it is a superb piece of work. Oh, Miss 
Katherine!” she exclaimed, “won’t that be a 
surprise to some of these artists in town here 
who have big reputations and can’t paint 
enough to keep themselves warm? I’ve seen 
their pictures in the exhibitions. They are 
all licked up and bad in color and haven’t any 
more nature in them than a church-steeple. 
They sell, too, just because they are nice and 


lOO 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


clean and have pretty colors in them, while 
some little gem painted true as gospel will 
be skyed way off in a corner, and the poor 
artist will be half starving in some garret. It's 
generally the poor ones that do the best 
work, and that’s why I thought it was so 
strange. Miss Katherine, when I first came to 
pose for you, that you could paint so strong 
and be so rich and beautiful at the same time. 
Most young ladies situated as you are don’t 
take much to anything that requires hard 
work.” 

Katherine had turned her easel around so 
as to get a different effect of light on her pic- 
ture and was sitting on the edge of the model 
stand, with her hands clasped around one 
knee. 

'*1 have given up the most of my life to my 
art,” she said, **and now it is just beginning 
to show me some gratitude. I have never 
cared much about going out, like other girls. 
I am happiest when I am hard at work.” 

Cynthia took her seat on the stand, at a 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


lOI 


respectful distance, and began to unpin the 
letter on her breast. 

*‘l will take this off now, Miss Katherine,” 
she said, “that is if you have finished with it. 
It brings back to me a very sad part of my 
life. I didn^t say anything about it before, 
because I thought it might worry you while 
you were painting.” 

“Certainly,” Katherine replied, wondering 
at Cynthia’s remark; “I shall not need it 
again.” 

“You know,” the model said thoughtfully, 
“I believe that’s why I could give you what 
you wanted for the picture of Hester Prynne. 
I haven’t read the story for some time, but as 
I remember it, it is very much like mine. But 
that is past and gone now,” she continued 
sorrowfully, “and I ought to forget it all. I 
do try, and have done my best to forgive him 
everything. Posing for your picture sort of 
brought it back to me, that’s all.” 

She wiped away the tears from her eyes and 
tried to say in a more cheerful tone: “I 


104 WOULD ANY MAN? 

might get a wrong impression from someone 
else.” 

‘‘Yes,” Katherine replied thoughtfully,” 
“that is always best.” 

“It is the same old story,” Cynthia said, 
taking a long breath to strengthen her voice. 
“He was handsome and rich and lived up- 
town in fine apartments, I a poor working 
girl in a store. He told me that I was beau- 
tiful and that he intended to marry me and 
make a fine lady of me. I believed and 
trusted him. Of course all this turned my 
poor, foolish head. What chance had I ever 
had to know any better, born in the slums, 
as I was, and reared amidst poverty and all 
kinds of bad influences? I thought he loved 
me, — God knows I loved him. I love him still 
and would be content to go though twice the 
suffering I have in the past two years if he 
would only come and put his arms around 
me as he used to do and let me tell him that 
I forgive him everything. My child was born 
in a hospital. I was delirious for days and 


WOULD ANY MAN? I05 

did not get my reason back for weeks after- 
wards. When my senses had returned and 
I was once more able to realize what had 
passed, I asked for the child. I thought of it as 
my only blessing, all I had on earth, the only 
bond of union between us. They told me — 
my God it’s awful,” she gasped, ^‘that I — I 
its own mother had killed it.” 

She paused and looked at Katherine, ex- 
pecting to see sorrow and loathing written 
on her countenance, but instead she found 
nothing there but mercy and compassion. 
Taking courage, she continued: 

“I lay for months in the hospital; my rea- 
son perfectly clear; my torture, therefore, all 
the more intense. Finally, the doctors told 
me I was well and must leave. Where could 
I go? My own parents turned me from their 
door; my old associates would not recognize 
me. I went from place to place, trying to get 
something to do to make a living, but every- 
one seemed to have heard my story, and 
shunned me as if I was a leper. I thought of 
ending my miserable existence and was often 


io6 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


on the point of doing so, but each time some- 
thing stayed my hand, something reminded 
me of his words of love. Could he have meant 
them and been prevented in some way from 
coming to me. I waited for months; he did 
not come. I wrote and asked him in God’s 
name to have pity on me. I received no 
answer. What could I do? I could not 
starve. I know he got my letters; they were 
not returned to my address on the envelopes. 
Well, I went from bad to worse, — it made 
no difference then. I knew he did not care.” 

She paused as if waiting for Katherine to 
speak, but she did not do so. 

‘'I know you loathe and despise me,” Cyn- 
thia said in a pitiful tone. “But do not cast 
me off. I am sure I could lead a better life, 
if I only had some one like you to help me. 
Be merciful and consider all before you judge 
me too harshly. Surely there is some good 
even in the vilest.” 

Katherine had arisen to her feet and now 
stood looking down at the miserable, penitent 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


107 


woman, who had buried her face in her hands 
and was sobbing bitterly. 

*‘My poor girl,” Katherine said softly, plac- 
ing one hand on Cynthia^s head as she spoke, 
“I do not judge you. I am not worthy of that. 
I pity you from the bottom of my heart. I will 
do anything I can to help you lead a better 
life. And the man?” She asked after a pause. 
“What became of him?” 

Cynthia raised her tear-wet eyes and looked 
at Katherine wonderingly. 

“He is still in New York,” she said at last, 
“I saw him just the other day go into an 
apartment house not two blocks from here. 
They tell me he is a great favorite in society, 
and that he writes books and makes lots of 
money.” 

“And his name?” Katherine asked ner- 
vously. 

Cynthia looked at her for a moment as one 
pleading for mercy. She did not speak, but 
oh! how much one look will often express. 

“You are right,” Katherine said, “I should 


io8 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


not have asked such a question. If you still 
love him as you say, do nothing that will in- 
jure him. His own conscience will prove a 
harder judge and wound him far deeper than 
anything the world could say. Are you sure 
he received your letters? Many a life has 
been ruined through some mistake.’’ 

‘^Oh, yes,” Cynthia replied wearily. ‘^He 
must have gotten them. I suppose he just 
stopped caring for me. Perhaps he met some 
beautiful rich lady like you. Miss Katherine, 
and then what chance had a poor ignorant 
girl like me.” 

^‘You say it would comfort and help you,” 
Katherine said, stroking the hair back from 
the poor flushed face, “to feel that someone 
cares what becomes of you. I care a great 
deal, Cynthia, and will do all I can to help 
you out of the path into which you have 
drifted, and try to make a good woman of you 
again.” 

“God bless you, miss,” Cynthia said brok- 
enly. “You don’t know how much it would 



“ I HARDLY THINK THERE IS MUCH I CAN DO.” 


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WOULD ANV MAN? I09 

help me to feel that one pure, good woman 
did not despise such a wretched creature as 
me, and believed I had some good left in me. 
Oh! Miss Katherine, you don’t knozv how I 
hate the life I lead. I would work my fingers 
to the bone if I could get honest work to do, 
and look the world in the face as I did be- 
fore—” 

^‘You may depend on me to help you,” 
Katherine broke in, her own voice trembling. 
“Don’t talk any more about it now. You are 
getting yourself too wrought up and nervous. 
Come and bathe your eyes and head. No, 
don’t say a word of praise. Who am I, that 
I should judge you or anyone? ” 


CHAP. XIL 


A few moments later Agnes came into the 
studio from the adjoining room, excited and 
flushed. 

“Oh, Katherine,” she broke forth, “I couldn’t : 
help hearing it all, I did not mean to listen 
to anything I shouldn’t have heard, but when ■ 
I came home you were talking to some wo- 
man in here, and I did not recognise Cyn- i 
thia’s voice at all, so I sat down in the next 
room to wait for her to go. Oh, isn’t it all 
dreadful? To think that she has been coming 
here too. What are you going to do?” 

“All I can to help her,” Katherine replied 
rather stiffly. 

“But she is a murderess! Surely she is 
beyond all redemption.” 

“I cannot see it in that light at all,” 
Katherine said, her face taking on a pained 
expression as she spoke. “In the first place, 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


Ill 


she is not a murderess, and in the second, 
if she was, I cannot see that she would be be- 
yond all redemption.. It is true she was the 
cause of the child’s death, but not voluntarily. 
Surely a merciful Providence will not hold 
her responsible for that. As to its birth, she 
has undoubtedly sinned very deeply, but not 
more so than the thousands of people who are 
living in wedlock to-day without an atom of 
love for one another. And this poor girl, be- 
cause she dared once to let a deep and true 
love get the better of her, is an outcast and 
shunned by every one. Oh, the inhumanity 
of humanity!” 

“But, Katherine, it was not only that once. 
Just think of the life she has been leading 
since.” 

“Agnes,” Katherine replied hotly, rising to 
her feet as she spoke, “you are talking about 
something you cannot appreciate, and know 
nothing in the world about. I believe Cyn- 
thia was telling the truth when she said that 
she tried in every way to lead a better life and 


II2 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


atone for the sin she had committed, and that 
she was driven in desperation to lead the life 
she has for the past two years. Can you 
imagine what it means to be left starving and 
penniless in a city like this, without one friend 
to turn to, without a place to lay one’s head? 
Suppose you had been born and reared as 
Cynthia was, think what you might have done 
under the same circumstances, before you sit in 
judgment on one who has gone through what 
that poor girl has.” 

Agnes bent her head in silence; her hands 
were lying listlessly in her lap ; the tears were 
rising in her eyes. 

“Are any of us so immaculate,” Katherine 
continued, “that we can take it upon ourselves 
to condemn wrong-doing in others, perpetrat- 
ed under conditions entirely foreign to our 
own? ‘He that is without sin among you, 
let him first cast a stone at her.’ ” 

Agnes looked up sorrowfully. 

“Katherine,” she said at last, “I am not 
worth bothering about. I am just a sdfish. 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


”3 


ungrateful thing, after all you have done for 
me.” 

She rose and put both arms around Kather- 
ine’s waist. 

‘^Please don’t think any more about the 
way I first looked at things,” she said plead- 
ingly. “I didn’t understand. It all seems so 
different when it comes from you. You are 
so true and noble, and always doing some- 
thing for some poor creature, and I never do 
good to any one. Can’t I help you when you 
go down among the poor on Sundays. I 
could carry the things you take them, and feel 
that I was doing some little.” 

“Yes, dear,” Katherine responded, touched 
by Agnes’ sorrowful expression, “but the first 
thing to be considered is what can be done for 
Cynthia; how we can get work for her to do.” 

“I know the very thing,” Agnes exclaimed 
after some deliberation. “She sews beautifully. 
She showed me some of her work one day. 
And Katherine, you remember that gown I 
told you I intended to get. I don't need it. 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


II4 

My other one will do just as well. The new 
one would cost at least thirty dollars and I 
can get my other made over for five, and give 
the rest of the money to Cynthia. She is so 
poor and needs it so much more than I do. I 
could get her to make the other gown over, 
too, and then she would get all the money. 
Won’t that be fine. Let’s go down to her 
room this afternoon and see her about it. I 
am so anxious to get her started. I could 
pay her in advance, which would help her 
until we can get more sewing for her to do.” 

“She is not starving,” Katherine said re- 
pressing a smile. “I paid her for posing for 
me this afternoon. She has enough to last 
for a day or so. We will see what is best to 
be done before she comes again on Thursday. 
I know she has lots of good in her and would 
have made a fine woman under different cir- 
cumstances. There are many cases like hers, 
if one could only find them out.” 

“Don’t the charity organizations do for 
th^m?” Agnes asked, 


WOULD ANV MAN? I15 

"‘Oh, yes, they do a great deal of good, but 
I fear in cases like Cynthia's, the applicant 
would not stand much chance of receiving 
help. She would be put down as an impostor 
from the start. And then, too, their object 
is to give temporary aid until work can be 
found, which, if her case were considered at 
all, would be very hard to find. You remem- 
ber, she told me how she tried to get work 
after she had left the hospital, and how she 
was turned away from every place she went.” 

“Yes, I do, and I feel so sorry for her,” 
Agnes said slowly. “And, Katherine, you won't 
think any more of the way I first looked at 
the matter, will you? I am just a narrow 
minded little goose and didn't know what I 
was talking about. I won't air my opinions 
any more. I will come to you first. You are 
always right and look at everything in such 
a beautiful, Christian way.” 

“I am not so sure of that, my little girl,” 
Katherine responded, “but I do believe in 
thinking well of every one until we have good 


Il6 WOULD ANY MAN? 

reason to believe otherwise, and in not being 
too hasty to condemn faults in others, which 
more than likely are offset by graver ones in 
ourselves. Circumstances have brought poor 
Cynthia down to where she is, and we must 
try and see what can be done. I believe there 
is more good than evil in her and that she 
will eventually turn out to be a fine woman 
if we will use our influence to make her so.” 


CHAP. XIIL 


That evening at dinner, Agnes was more 
quiet than usual. There was evidently some- 
thing in her mind that was worrying her 
greatly. She ate little and talked less, and 
not until the coffee had been brought on and 
the maid had left the room, did she satisfy 
Katherine’s mind as to the cause of her 
trouble. 

“Katherine,” she said rather abruptly, set- 
ting her cup down a little harder than is gen- 
erally considered to be good for Dresden, 
“after I went to my room this afternoon I got 
to thinking about Cynthia, and something is 
worrying me very much. I remember what 
you said about thinking well of every one 
until we had good reason to believe otherwise, 
and I am going to try hard to adopt that plan ; 
but something struck me so forcibly, that I 
thought I would speak to you about it. You 


Il8 WOULD ANY MAN? 

can reason things out so much better than I 
can. Do you remember what Cynthia said 
about — about the man?” she stammered. 

‘‘Yes.” 

“How he wrote books and went out a great 
deal and — and she saw him going into an 
apartment house two blocks from here?” 

“I remember all that,” Katherine replied 
slowly, “and I think I can divine what is 
worrying you so. The evidence is very dam- 
aging, to say the least. But I don’t believe 
it and wouldn’t unless he told me so with his 
own lips.” 

“And I don’t either,” Agnes said brokenly, 
“but wouldn’t it only be fair to Arthur to 
clear the whole matter up. I don’t believe it, 
indeed I don’t, Katherine, but I do think it 
would be so much better, if there wasn’t any 
doubt about it.” 

“I know what you mean,” Katherine re- 
plied after hesitating for a moment, “and look- 
ing at it in that light, I do think it would be 
much better, but I don’t exactly see how it 


WOULD ANY MANT II9 

could be done. I don't believe it and wouldn't 
for the world let Arthur think I had the 
slightest suspicion of him, and if you had seen 
Cynthia's expression when I thoughtlessly 
asked her the name of the man, you would 
have been convinced that she would never 
tell. Poor girl, whatever she may be, she 
surely has shown unbounded mercy.” 

do not believe it any more than you do,” 
Agnes replied earnestly, *‘but suppose Cyn- 
thia should tell others as much as she has you, 
and they should suspect Arthur. You know 
how a thing of this kind is twisted and 
changed in passing from one person to an- 
other. Oh, Katherine, that would be awful, 
and, if it should get back to Arthur, he never 
would get over it. I'm sure he wouldn't.” 

might ask Cynthia,” Katherine said 
thoughtfully, “not to say anything about it 
to any one, not even as much as she did to 
me. If she promises I do not believe she 
would tell it. That, however, would not re- 
move the doubt you suggest. I do not pee 


120 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


any way out of it, Agnes. I am very much 
afraid you will have to continue to doubt Ar- 
thur for the rest of your life.” 

don’t doubt him, Katherine. It’s not that, 
but Cynthia’s story was so apropos that I 
couldn’t help thinking, and I still think, it would 
be better, for Arthur’s sake, to put him beyond 
all suspicion. If an opportunity presents it- 
self you wouldn’t blame me for taking advant- 
age of it, would you?” 

^‘Not in the least, but I can’t see in what 
possible way you could do it, unless Arthur 
should run across her in my studio some day. 
Even then, if there should be the thousandth 
part of a chance of his having had anything 
to do with it, I am sure Cynthia would not 
let on in the slightest possible way.” 

''I wish I hadn’t heard Cynthia’s story,” 
Agnes said regretfully, '^at least that part of 
it. I am afraid, as you say, there won’t be any 
way of clearing it up, and it just makes me 
uncomfortable.” 

“Well, dear,” Katherine responded, “why 
don’t you try to think nothing more about it. 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


I2I 


You say that you don’t believe it. That should 
be sufficient.” 

“Yes, I know it ought, Katherine, but I just 
can’t help it. Anything like that worries me 
dreadfully until it is entirely cleared up, and I 
am afraid that will be a long time and prob- 
ably never.” 

“I’m afraid so,” Katherine replied. 


CHAP. XIV. 


“Do you realize, Katherine,” said Agnes, 
looking up from her book as they sat in the 
library later that evening, “that Arthur has 
not been near us for a week? Something 
must be wrong. I know he wouldn’t act this 
way if there wasn’t.” 

“It does seem a little strange,” Katherine 
said, “but I do not think there is any occa- 
sion for you to worry. I never saw a man 
who was more able to take care of himself 
than Arthur, and if he was sick I think he 
would certainly send us a note.” 

“But he might be too sick to write it,” 
Agnes suggested. “Oh! I think it’s horrid to 
be a girl. If I was a man, now, I’d just put 
on my hat and coat, walk right around there, 
get in the elevator, go up to his rooms and say 
‘Hello! Gordon, old chap, why haven’t you 
been around to see ^ fellow?’ and he’d say, 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


123 


‘Hello! old man, I’m awfully glad to see you. 
Sit down and have a pipe. I zvas coming 
around last night, but I had so deuced much 
work to do I couldn’t get away’ — and that 
would be the end of it. Instead, I am a girl 
and have to sit and fret just because a lot 
of old gossips raise their hands in holy horror 
at the slightest unconventional thing a girl 
does. Oh, I think it’s horrid, I do indeed. 
I’d a great deal rather be a man, anyhow. 
Wouldn’t you, Katherine?” 

“Well, yes, for a great many reasons I 
think I would,” Katherine replied laughingly, 
“and for a great many others I would not. 
A man has to accomplish so much more than 
a woman to get the same amount of credit.” 

“And the woman has to do twice the 
amount of work to earn the same amount of 
money,” Agnes broke in. “Men have the best 
of us in more ways than one.” 

“Don’t you think we had better write a 
note to Arthur?” she continued, after a short 
pause. “I am awfully worried and — and you 


124 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


don’t seem to be a bit. I thought you were 
fond of Arthur. I know he is of you, he has 
told me so.” 

Katherine raised her eyes slowly. 

“Fond of him,” she repeated, “Agnes, that 
is a queer way for you to talk to me. You 
know I am fond of him. He is all that I could 
wish for in a man, and that is saying a great 
deal.” 

“I should think, then,” Agnes replied 
thoughtfully, “that you would love him.” 

“Do you?” Katherine questioned. 

“Not in the way I would like you to. He 
seems like a brother to me. I want you to 
love him with your whole soul, and marry 
him. Oh, Katherine, it would be the best 
thing in the world for you. You would be the 
making of one another. Just think what great 
books Arthur could write with your influence 
to help him, and what great illustrations you 
could make for them. And I could come and 
live with you in the winters — that is if you 
should want me, — and pose for some of the 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


125 


characters in the stories — if they should hap- 
pen to have anything like me in them, — and 
everything would go right then/’ 

Katherine bent her head and was listening 
attentively to all her little friend was saying. 

“Agnes,” she said at last, raising her eyes 
as she spoke, “I am not cold and indifferent 
as you often suppose me to be, I can love like 
other women if I dared do so, but there is 
a stain upon my life which prevents me ever 
giving myself to any man, to be, perhaps, the 
mother of innocent children who might some 
day learn the truth, and turn against me and 
justly curse me for their very existence. No! 
No! Anything but that.” 

“Katherine, dear, don’t talk that way. You 
frighten me,” Agnes replied nervously. “One 
would think, to hear you, that you had com- 
mitted some awful crime. You should not 
make yourself the victim of a deed which you 
are in no way responsible for. There is no 
justice in the visitation of the sins of fathers 
upon the innocent heads of those they bring 
into this world.” 


126 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


Katherine sat silent with her face turned 
sorrowfully away. 

'‘You have told me/' Agnes continued, 
“that your secret is known to you alone. Why, 
then, should you ruin your life for something 
you are in no way responsible for, and which 
can never be learned unless you so desire it. 
Could you trust me, Katherine? If so, tell 
me what it is. I am sure I could comfort and 
help you. I am not the narrow minded girl 
I was.” 

“I trust you, dear. It is not that,” Kath- 
erine replied bitterly. “It’s fear that keeps 
me back — fear that you — you might hate me 
for what I have done. Heredity, as you sup- 
pose, is not the cause of all my mental tor- 
ture. I alone am guilty.” 

She paused and turned to Agnes, who was 
looking at her intently with a troubled, per- 
plexed expression. 

“Come, dear,” she said, rising from her 
chair, “let’s write the note to Arthur. I fear 
he must be sick, as you suggest.” 




Agnes 

(After a Portrait by Katherine Montressor.) 








WOULD ANY MAN? 


127 


Agnes raised the hand that was lying list- 
lessly on her shoulder and pressed it fervently 
to her lips. 

"‘Katherine/' she said, at last, “you have 
always looked upon me as a child. I do not 
wonder at it. In fact I was, until the day 
Cynthia told her sad story. You taught me 
then not to look down upon, and turn with 
loathing from, those who have repented and 
in their very agony cry to us for help. For- 
give me, Katherine, I love you more, if pos- 
sible, than I ever did before. Nothing shall 
ever come between us now.” 

Katherine bent and pressed one long and 
fervent kiss upon the upturned forehead. 

“God bless you, little girl,” she murmured, 
“and may He make me grateful for the bless- 
ing He has given me in you, my only earthly 
comfort.” 

Agnes made no answer. A great lump was 
rising in her throat. Her heart was too full 
for utterance. She could only draw her friend 
down closer to her breast and wait until her 
emotion had spent itself. 


128 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


When Katherine raised her head her eyes 
were wet with tears. Her first that Agnes had 
ever seen. 

‘‘Come, dear,’^ she said slowly, “let’s write 
the note to Arthur now. I was more worried 
than I let you know.” 

As Agnes rose to get her pen there was a 
strong ring at the bell.. “That sounds like 
Arthur now,” she exclaimed; “I know his 
ring.” 

They looked at each other with that inde- 
scribable expression, as only women can 
when the unexpected happens, and the servant 
announced Mr. Gordon. 

“It has been a long time since we have seen 
you,” Katherine said, advancing and holding- 
out her hand to him as she spoke. “We had 
both become most anxious, and were on the 
point of writing you a note. I hope you have 
not been sick.” 

“No, not exactly,” Gordon said, taking her 
hand, then turning to Agnes, who was await- 
ing her turn with both hands extended. 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


129 


“Oh, I think you are awful,’' she said, with 
a coquettish little smile, “to leave two help- 
less women to the mercy of a city like this. I 
imagined all sorts of dreadful things had hap- 
pened to you; that you were drowned in East 
River, or murdered for your watch, or some- 
thing of the kind. Where have you been 
since, — well, it’s really been so long ago, I 
can’t remember.” 

“I had no idea my absence would make so 
much difference here,” Gordon replied, good 
naturedly, glancing at Katherine as he spoke. 
“It has not been from choice, but compulsion,” 
he continued, taking a chair near the divan, 
on which both girls had seated themselves. 

“The man who did the compelling must 
have been a big one,” Agnes said smilingly; 
“tell us all about it. I’m sure it must be inter- 
esting.” 

“In a way it is,” Gordon said, “but, at the 
same time, very sad. The literary man, I told 
you about,” he continued, turning to Kath- 
erine as he spoke, “was brought home very 


130 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


badly hurt the evening after I was last here. 
About six o’clock the afternoon of the acci- 
dent, his horse returned to the stable with his 
right fore-hoof bespattered with blood. As 
there was not even so much as a scratch on 
him, suspicion was naturally aroused as to 
the welfare of the rider. Two men from the 
stable took a buggy and went out a road 
which, luckily, the unfortunate man had said 
he intended taking that afternoon. 

‘Tt was long after dark before they found 
him lying prostrate by the side of the road, 
with a very ugly wound in the head, evidently 
made by a blow from one of the horse’s front 
feet. After the wounded man had been taken 
home, the doctor made a thorough examina- 
tion of his injuries, and found that his back 
was broken, the skull slightly fractured, and 
that he was suffering from some serious in- 
ternal injuries. Poor fellow; he is in a pretty 
bad way. I do not think he will last long.” 

‘‘Oh, that’s dreadful,” Katherine exclaimed. 
“Is there no hope for him?” 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


131 

‘The doctor says he can’t tell yet/’ Gordon 
replied, “and that all depends on careful nurs- 
ing. The patient is conscious but seems to 
be unable to relate any of the circumstances 
of his accident. All he will say about it is, 
that it was all his fault; that he shouldn’t have 
tried it; that he might have known it was too 
much for poor old Ronsfere, from which we 
imagine he was trying to jump his horse over 
a five rail fence that skirts the road where he 
was found, which was more than the animal 
could clear. Poor fellow! he suffers terribly.” 

“I am distressed,” Katherine said. “Is 
there nothing in the world I can do? Poor 
man, how he must suffer. Are any of his fam- 
ily with him? Has he a mother or sister, and 
have they been sent for?” 

“Not a soul,” Gordon answered. “As soon 
as he was able to speak without great effort, 
I asked him if I could send for any one. A 
sorrowful shake of the head was his only reply. 
I have been with him night and day for nearly 
a week, with the exception of a few hours’ 


132 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


sleep. At night he becomes delirious, and 
raves in a distressing way. It is pitiable to 
hear him. His ravings are about some wo- 
man, but so inarticulate that I can make very 
little out of them.” 

“Perhaps they are about one who loves him 
and who should be at his bedside,” Katherine 
said earnestly. “Do your best to learn her 
name, and bring them together. It might 
save the poor fellow’s life.” 

“I will,” Gordon replied solemnly. 

“How is the music coming along, Agnes?” 
he continued, desirous of changing the sub- 
ject. “I have been longing to hear you play 
Chopin again; I don’t know when I have en- 
joyed anything as much.” 

“I am still hard at it,” she replied, trying to 
conceal the tremor in her voice, for which 
Gordon’s affecting story of the accident was 
responsible. “I shall be delighted,” she con- 
tinued, “to play for you again any afternoon 
you may suggest. Mannetti is very compli- 
mentary, and predicts all kinds of a future for 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


133 


me, but you know what these foreigners are, 
when it comes to making pretty speeches to 
women! I am afraid their compliments have 
to be taken with many more than one grain of 
salt.” 

‘‘But there are a great many others who 
agree with your master in his predictions,” 
Gordon rejoined. “I have heard your praises 
sounded by those whose opinions I put as 
much confidence in as I do in his, and who are 
not given to making pretty speeches to 
women.” 

“But who may be to men, when speaking of 
their friends,” Agnes replied with a smile. 

“Well,” Gordon said carelessly, “there is 
nothing like being modest where one’s talent 
is concerned. It is a sure way to learn, when 
coupled with hard work.” 

“There is no dearth of the latter in Agnes’ 
case,” Katherine remarked. “I am afraid she 
will kill herself if she continues to study as 
hard as she has been doing lately. Don’t 
you think she is looking badly?” 


134 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


“No; I can’t say that I do,” Gordon replied, 
looking at Agnes as he spoke. “On the con> 
trary, I think she looks stouter every time I 
see her.” 

“Oh, lovely!” Agnes exclaimed, rising to 
her feet as she spoke. “I will say good night 
after that,” she continued; “I am afraid you 
might retract it, and then, too, I am sadly in 
need of something which is a very necessary 
article nowadays. It is commonly called beauty 
sleep. No! Don’t. I know I brought it on 
myself,” she said smilingly as he was about 
to reply, “the water is much too shallow. 
Good night. Let me know about the Chopin. 
Any afternoon you say, I shall be delighted. 
Good night, Katherine.” 

“Good night, dear,” the latter responded, as 
the portieres came together. 


Chap. xv. 


“It seems a long time since I last saw you,” 
Gordon said earnestly after some time of si- 
lence, “and in reality it has only been a little 
over a week. This may appear to you a rather 
youthful way of talking but it proves more to 
me than you might imagine.” 

Katherine said nothing. She felt, from the 
seriousness of his expression and the earnest- 
ness of his voice, that the painful scene which 
she knew must come sooner or later was 
near at hand. 

“You have known for some time,” he said 
after a constrained pause, “that I love you. 
You couldn't help seeing that. I have kept si- 
lent just as long as I could. I cannot any 
longer. I have loved you ever since the first 
day I saw you, four years ago.” 

“Would to heaven you had declared it 
then,” she murmured faintly, then raised her 
eyes to his and shook her head sorrowfully. 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


136 

“Katherine, I cannot live without you. Give | 
me just one ray of hope, something to work j 
all the harder for and bring out the best that j 

: i 

is in me. Think, before you ruin my life and 1 1 
crush out of me all hope, all ambition. You | 
are generous, you are merciful. I have seen j 
it in all your actions, even to the most miser- ' 
able of wretches begging on the streets. With ( 
a promise from your lips nothing could be too ; 
great to accomplish for your dear sake. I | 
would go to the very gates of hell itself to win | 
you, and will not claim you until I have ac- | 
complished something which would make my | 
name worthy for you to take. Katherine, | 
think what you are doing. Do you not care | 
some little for me?” 

His face was so earnest, so full of manly 
tenderness, strength and love, that she longed 
to throw herself upon his mercy, and tell him 
all. The stronger side of her nature, however, 
quickly predominated. 

“You are asking something, Arthur,” she 
said slowly, “that is beyond my power to 1 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


137 


grant. I love you. I am not ashamed to ac- 
knowledge it, and will do all in my power to 
help you achieve your highest ambition.’’ 

, Gordon sprang to his feet in an ecstasy of 
joy. His face was radiant with manly triumph 
and new born hope. 

“You say that you love me, Katherine. That 
being so, what else can stand between us?” 

“Yes, I love you,” she repeated, “but I can 
never marry you.” 

“I do not understand,” he said, reseating 
himself in front of her, his face resuming its 
grave expression. “If you love me, nothing 
should stand between us. You mean that you 
do not love me in a way that warrants mar- 
riage, that your love contains no passion. Oh, 
Katherine, do not tell me that! I cannot live 
without you.” 

“No, Arthur, you do me an injustice; I love 
you with all the strength and passion my wo- 
man’s soul is capable of. You can surely see 
it; there is no use in me trying to conceal it 
from you. Would to God it were not so. As 


138 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


you are a man, strong and well able to cope 
with the temptations of this life, help me to 
do what is right. My reasons are adequate. 
I know the path to take ; the one which will be 
best for both of us. Help me, I am only a 
woman.” 

He bent his head in silence. 

“Arthur,” she continued, “do not think me 
cruel. I am only acting for the best. You say 
that I would help you to accomplish what you 
have been striving for for years; that I would 
be the making of you. I am convinced that 
our marriage would ruin your career. You 
do not know. You do not know.” 

“Katherine,” he asked rather abruptly, “is 
there any legal reason why you should not 
marry me?” 

“No; there is a stain upon my life which 
makes it impossible for me to give myself to 
any man.” 

“I know,” he said gravely, “what you refer 
to. Agnes has told me much of your past 
life. I know the circumstances of your father’s 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


139 


death. Katherine, if I am willing to put aside 
all such reasons, what right have you or has 
any one to question an action of my own 
which concerns me alone.’’ 

''It is not as you suppose, Arthur. You do 
not know what you are saying,” she replied 
bitterly. "Would to God it were so easily put 
aside.” 

"Nor do I wish to know,” he said, rising to 
his feet, "my love is strong enough to crush 
out any prejudice. I would marry you to- 
morrow for better or for worse. Katherine, 
consent; put all the past aside; give me your 
promise, and I will swear that so far as it is 
in my power, you shall never regret one mo- 
ment of the time as long as you live. Do not 
drive me to desperation. You say that you 
love me; that being so, you are mine by di- 
vine right. No earthly power should keep us 
apart.” 

"I cannot consent,” she said slowly. "You 
do not know what you are saying. If you love 
me as you say you do, and I believe it with all 


140 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


my heart, leave me now and do not talk this 
way again. It is harder for me to bear than 
it is for you. I am the cause of it all.^" 

'‘Katherine,” he said gravely, “suppose this 
stain, as you have called it, had come in to 
my life, do you think that I would act as you 
are doing? No; I would not. I would try to 
forget it all — we cannot alter the past, — and 
make my future as best I could.” 

“Oh, yes,” she replied bitterly, “it’s all so 
different with a man.” 

“Granting that that is so,” he said, “I can- 
not see, looking at it from a moral standpoint, 
that there should be any difference drawn. 
The very men who lead the wildest lives are 
the first to condemn some thoughtless act in 
woman. Whatever this accursed thing may 
be, the world will never be the wiser. Kather- 
ine, you are unreasonable, — the first time I 
have ever known you so. Put this foolish 
prejudice aside, and promise to be my wife.” 

“I cannot Arthur,” she said slowly. 

“Do you realize what you are doing?” he 


Would any man? 


141 

asked earnestly, rising as he spoke. “Do you 
know what all this means to me?” 

She made no answer, but sat pale as death 
itself, staring fixedly in front of her. 

He waited some seconds for her to reply, 
then moved slowly towards the door. 

“Good-night,” he said bitterly, “I must now 
go back to sit up with my wounded friend. It 
will be a long and dreary vigil, I assure you.” 

Katherine realized nothing until she heard 
the door close and his footsteps descending 
the granite steps outside. 

“Arthur,” she gasped, “come back! I have 
something to say to you! Arthur! Arthur!” 

The sound of his footsteps grew fainter and 
fainter, and she threw herself back on the 
cushions, with one long smothered sob. 


CHAP. XVI. 


Two weeks later, Cynthia was seated in one 
of her two cozy rooms which Katherine had 
procured for her and furnished nicely. A 
bright fire was burning in a cheerful little 
open stove, and the warm rays of the sun were 
pouring in through the window, beside which 
she was sitting, busily engaged in finishing a 
piece of embroidery. It was a table scarf of 
rich red silk, on which she had wrought an 
Eastern design, curious and grotesque in pat- 
tern, in many delicate shades, each and every 
one of which blended delightfully with the 
brilliant tone of the background. 

Hanging in the sunlight, by the side of the 
window near Cynthia, was a chirpy little 
canary. He was hopping from perch to perch 
in his cage of shining metal, and trilling away 
in his own bird language, as much as to say, 
‘T am so glad I am not out in the cold like 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


143 

other birds, and have some one to take care 
of all my wants.” 

The lines in Cynthia’s face, which dissipa- 
tion and hardship had put there, were already 
beginning to disappear. She felt that she had 
now something to live for; that there was 
someone who took an interest in her; that she 
could look the world in the face once more, 
and say, I am earning my living by honest 
work. I am entitled to some respect from my 
fellow beings. 

‘'That will please dear Miss Katherine, I 
hope,” she said to herself, as she threw the 
table scarf over the back of a chair. “She is 
fond of red, and I think it will go with the 
furniture and hangings in her library.” She 
then rose, and stood off some little distance, 
to contemplate the effect. “It is a trifle to what 
she has done for me; but I may be able, some 
day, to show her how much I appreciate all 
her kindness.” 

After she had taken up the scarf and care- 
fully clipped off all the straggling threads 


144 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


from the wrong side, she folded it neatly and 
tied it up in white tissue paper with a narrow 
red ribbon. 

“Now, Dick,” she said to the canary, a few 
moments later, ''I am going out, and I want 
you to be a good bird until I get back. You 
may sing and hop about as much as you 
choose, but don’t scatter seed on my new car- 
pet. Do you understand?” 

Dick, with his head on one side at a saucy 
angle, looked as if he understood perfectly; 
but, at the same time, very much as if he in- 
tended to do exactly as he pleased. 

“Now see that you mind,” Cynthia said, as 
she closed the door behind her. 

She found Katherine in her studio, stand- 
ing in front of a large canvas, while Agnes 
was posing on the model stand, dressed in a 
quaint short waisted gown, with a large frill 
running completely around the square cut 
neck. She looked as if she had just stepped 
out of a portrait painted one hundred years 
ago. A broad sash encircled her just beneath 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


145 


the bust and was tied in the back in two great 
loops which gave it the appearance of a huge 
butterfly, about to take flight. Her hair was 
tucked high up on the head, and was entwined 
artistically with some old-fashioned beads 
which Katherine had brought from the Manor. 
A pair of red, high-heeled slippers and a 
quaint old-fashioned spangled fan she held in 
one hand, completed the costume. 

“You are just the one I wanted to see,” 
Katherine exclaimed, as Cynthia entered the 
studio. “I have been struggling with this 
foreshortened arm for an hour at least, and it 
won't come right. Come; tell me what the 
trouble is. I do believe some good angel sent 
you here.” 

“And I believe that every time I come, Miss 
Katherine,” Cynthia replied, with a smile; 
then, turning to Agnes, “Oh, that’s charm- 
ing. How beautifully the gown tones in with 
the background, and the pose, too, is delight- 
ful, chic and Frenchy. What a stunning can- 
vas it will make. You should never wear anv 


146 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


Other costume, Miss Agnes. You would have 
all the millionaires at your feet, if they could 
see you at this present moment.^' 

would like to change these slippers first,’’ 
Agnes replied laughingly, '*for I am sure, with 
these high heels, I would fall over on some of 
them.” 

*They wouldn’t mind,” Katherine said, fall- 
ing into the humor of the remark. ‘‘Now 
Cynthia,” she continued, “tell me what the 
trouble is with the arm. It don’t seem to 
hang with the rest of the drawing, and has 
given me more trouble than the rest of the 
figure put together.” 

Cynthia viewed the offending member criti- 
cally, holding up a pencil at arm’s length, and 
taking its horizontal and vertical relations to 
other points as she did so. 

“It’s not much out. Miss Katherine,” she 
said finally. “It appears to me to be a little 
long from the shoulder to the elbow. I think 
if you will make the forearm a little longer it 
will proportion better. It looks weak for 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


147 


the other one. The rest of the drawing is 
stunning. You have caught the spirit of your 
model beautifully. It looks quite like Sargent’s 
work.” 

*T wish I could think so,” Katherine re- 
plied, taking up a large chamois skin, as she 
spoke, and dusting off the charcoal, in order 
to make the correction. I do think I have 
succeeded in getting those folds quite true, 
the head seems good in action. Don’t you 
think I am working more freely than I did?” 

“Indeed I do, you are making big strides 
on every canvas you paint. Your last picture 
is always the finest, and the best part of it is 
that you are never satisfied with your work.” 

“Well, I suppose there is still hope for me,” 
Katherine said, with a good natured little 
laugh. “Come, look at the arm now. It is 
better, I think.” 

“It’s a different thing,” Cynthia said, tak- 
ing another look at the drawing. “It took so 
little to fix it, too. I wouldn’t put another 
stroke on it, miss, indeed I wouldn’t. It’s all 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


I4S 

ready for the paint. I hope you will get the : 
freedom in the finished portrait that you have 
here. It’s fine.” 

“I will try hard to,” Katherine replied. ; 
“Now, my little lady-bug,” she continued, ^ 
turning to Agnes, “you had better take a long ' 
rest. I am sure you must be worn out. You i 
have been up there nearly three-quarters of 1 
an hour.” > 

“I am not a bit tired,” Agnes replied. “Are | 
you quite sure you can stop now? All right I 
then, I will get down now and walk around a \ 
little. One does get cramped, holding the | 
same position for some time.” 

“Where is your picture of the ‘Scarlet Let- 
ter,’ Miss Katherine? I don’t see it anywhere 
around,” Cynthia asked. 

“Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you. I sent it to ' 
the Academy yesterday, which was the last 
day for receiving. The judges decide next ' 
Tuesday and Wednesday. I do hope they will 
be lenient and,” with a smile, “give a new 
fellow a chance. I am afraid they are some- 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


149 


what partial to the older workers, though, are 
they not?” 

“The young ones all say so,” Cynthia re- 
plied, “but, from what I’ve learned, I believe 
they try to be fair to every one. I heard a 
young artist who had been turned down year 
after year say once he thought the only way 
to get an impartial judgment on a lot of pic- 
tures would be to have them signed on the 
backs and the names of the painters kept from 
the members of the committee until they had 
passed their opinions.” 

“I don’t know but that he is right,” Kath- 
erine replied, “there would then be very little 
chance for partiality, except where the tech- 
nique could be recognized.’ 

“But that could be done very easily,” Cyn- 
thia said, crossing the room as she spoke. 
“Some of the committee have been there for 
a long time and can recognize an artist’s work 
in a minute.” 

“Here is something for you,” she contin- 
ued, after she had come back to where Kath- 

6 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


150 

erine was seated. ‘‘I made it myself. Please 
don’t open it until I have gone. I am afraid 
you might thank me for it, and I don’t deserve 
it. If I worked the rest of my life for you, I 
couldn’t half repay you for all you have done 
for me. I thought it might tone in well in 
your library, and hope you will like it.” 

“I am sure I shall,” Katherine replied, rais- 
ing the package from her lap where Cynthia 
had laid it, “but you shouldn’t have taken all 
that trouble. I won’t open it now, but I will 
thank you for it. I am sure it is some of your 
beautiful needle-work, and just what I want. 
You shouldn’t have done it, Cynthia; you are 
working too hard now. I haven’t a doubt 
you sat up late at night, making it.” 

“Miss Katherine, please don’t talk that 
way,” Cynthia said. “As if anything could be a 
trouble to me, when doing it for you. I’d lay 
my life right down at your feet, if I thought 
you wanted me to. I never can repay you 
for all you have done for me.” 

“It more than repays me,” Katherine an- 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


I51 

swered, ''to see you bright and happy, and 
leading a useful life/’ 

Just then Agnes, who had been at the win- 
dow for some little time, turned and said 
quickly: "Come here, Cynthia. Hurry, come 
quickly. Do you see that man on the other 
side of the street? The tall one, with the frock 
coat and silk hat,” she asked nervously. 

"Yes, miss, I do,” Cynthia replied. 

"Have you ever seen him before?” 

"I cannot say. It is very hard to tell, look- 
ing down on a person. The hat is in the way. 
I cannot see him well.” 

At that moment Arthur Gordon looked up 
towards the window, and, seeing Agnes stand- 
ing there, raised his hat. 

"No,” Cynthia said, "I have never laid eyes 
on him before,” 


CHAP. XVII. 


Katherine’s picture of the ‘‘Scarlet Letter” 
has not only been accepted, but hung “on the 
line” in a place of honor opposite the entrance 
to the main gallery. The exhibition is open, 
the day is a bright dry one, and the lovers of 
the beautiful have come in full force to see 
what is in store for them on the walls of the 
National Academy of Design. 

On hearing the verdict of the committee 
about her work, and that it had been hung as 
it was, Katherine decided not to go to the gal- 
lery for several days after its opening. She 
knew that she would meet many of her former 
art associates there, and feared that they 
would talk much to her about the “Scarlet 
Letter,” and attract attention in the crowd, 
all of which she wished to avoid. Cynthia 
was one of the first to enter the building when 
the doors were thrown open to the public. 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


153 


She had taken a seat on one of the large 
sofas in the centre of the gallery, nearly oppo- 
site the ‘‘Scarlet Letter/’ Here she had re- 
mained the entire morning, making mental 
notes of all she could hear in praise of Kath- 
erine’s triumph. 

Her blood tingled for joy when she heard 
men, ripe in years and of much experience in 
the painter’s craft, speaking in the highest 
possible terms of Katherine’s work. They 
would look admiringly at it, then turn to some 
fellow artist, and say, “Very well done, shows 
genius, strong in drawing, fine composition,” 
while the smaller fry stood around by the 
hour, gazing with admiration and envy at the 
pinnacle to which their former class-mate had 
soared. 

The newspapers, as Cynthia had predicted, 
were lavish in their praises. Of the few pic- 
tures to which separate headings and much 
space were of necessity given, the “Scarlet 
Letter” headed the list. Critics who, as a rule, 
could see but little good in American art, were 


154 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


of but one opinion as to Katherine’s picture, — 
that it was marvelous. Its fame was rapidly 
spreading. Journals of other cities were send- 
ing their correspondents to New York to 
gather information. Each mail would bring 
Katherine letters from various clipping bu- 
reaus in different parts of the country. Long 
and flowery letters, telling what a great source 
of pleasure it would be to their writers to 
gather and send to her the various articles 
which were being published in their cities and 
elsewhere about the “Scarlet Letter;” of 
course not omitting the exact amount it 
would cost her to give them this particular 
pleasure. 

Gordon had been to the exhibition, and 
heard much of Katherine’s triumph. He felt, 
when he heard one of the strongest painters 
in New York say that her work contained 
genius, and would stand the test of being 
hung in any gallery of the day, that he, too, had 
achieved a crowning success. He loved her 
all the more for the laurels she had recently 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


155 


won, and for the way she had so bravely sac- 
rificed herself because she thought it was best 
for him and for his future. He had thought 
much since he had last seen her about the 
stand she had taken, and was more and more 
convinced that it was due to the over-sensitive 
way she looked at matters. 

“What right have 1 ” he argued with him- 
self, “to demand more than I give. She is 
many times better than I, whatever she may 
have done.’' He, therefore, determined, as 
soon as possible to return to her, and make 
his plea all the stronger; to show her that 
nothing could shake his purpose, and that he 
was determined to have her at any cost. 

All this was burning in Gordon’s brain as 
he walked home from the exhibition. 

Although the streets were crowded, as is 
usual at that hour, and many of his friends 
were among those he passed, he was hardly 
conscious of his surroundings. More than 
once, he was nearly run down by the passing 
vehicles, as he crossed the crowded thorough- 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


156 

fares. He was sensible of little but his inten- 
tion to overcome all her prejudices; how, or 
in what way, would be best to accomplish this, 
his fevered brain could not determine. He 
knew how strong a character she possessed, 
and how hard it was to break down any point 
she should make, believing herself to be in 
the right. 

Before reaching his apartment an idea 
struck him. 

“What if I could,'' he thought, “persuade 
Katherine to tell me what it is in her life 
which she thinks would ruin mine, and let 
me judge for myself. Surely she would not 
withstand if I were willing to waive it all." 

Still deep in thought, as he left the elevator 
to go to his rooms, he was accosted by his 
sick friend's valet. 

“Mr. Gordon," the latter said, in a whisper, 
“I have been looking for you, sir. The lawyer 
has been here for some time, and would like 
you as a witness to the will. Mr. Frank is 
very low and seemed particular worried about 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


157 


something this morning after you left. He 
told me to send for his lawyer, and I thought 
it best to do it, sir. He seemed so nervous 
and fretful like, that I thought if I didn’t do 
it, it might have bad consequences.” 

Gordon made no reply, but turned and en- 
tered the sick room quietly, followed by the 
valet. 

The patient had just affixed his signature 
to his will, and was being lowered gently on 
his pillow by the kindly old physician, who 
had worked hard, and taxed his skill, which 
was great, to its utmost in order to prolong 
the life of the wounded man, who was now be- 
yond all hope of recovery. 

The lawyer, a lean and lank individual of 
much self importance, was seated at a small 
table by the side of the bed. The portion of 
his face which was not covered by a thin red- 
dish brown beard was pale and emaciated; the 
nose, which was thin and narrow, inclined a 
little in favor of the right side before it came 
to a point. His small watery eyes were set 
close together, and did not rest in any one 


158 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


place for more than a second or two, but 
moved nervously from object to object. In 
his right hand, two fingers of which were 
much stained owing to excessive cigarette 
smoking, he held a penknife, and was endeav- 
oring to erase from the will a blot caused by 
the shaking hand of the dying man. The blot 
seemed to be giving him much more anxiety 
than did the condition of the latter. After it 
had been removed as far as possible with- 
out causing a hole through the paper, he 
raised his head with a jerk, and said with a 
quick nervous indrawing of the breath, as if 
shivering, “Mr. Gordon, your signature here, 
if you please.” 

Gordan gave him one glance of mingled 
contempt and disgust, then took the pen and 
hurriedly affixed his signature. 

“Dr. Bollingbroke, yours beneath it,” in the 
same tone used towards Gordon. 

He then folded the will carefully, and 
placed it in a large yellow envelope, which he 
proceeded to put into his pocket. 

“Gordon,” the dying man said feebly, “I 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


159 


would like you to take charge of that, and see 
that it is carried out to the letter. I have men- 
tioned the name of one particularly; she is in 
this city. Find her — and tell her — tell her 
— he gasped, ‘'that — oh! I am in such 
agony; raise me just — a — a little, so — so I can 
get my breath. That’s better, now I — I can 
speak. Tell her that my dying words are for 
her forgiveness. Ask her,” he continued in 
a whisper, “in Christ’s name to forgive me all 
the wrong I have done her. Say that what I 
have left will take her out of the misery into 
which I have placed her. That is all — that is 
all.” 

Gordon lowered him gently, and took the 
withered hand within his own. In the silence 
which followed, the breathing of the dying man 
could be heard to grow fainter and fainter. 
His grasp grew weak, and the breath came in 
gasps; until the last, — that awful gasp which 
separates the soul from the body — shook the 
whole frame, in one great convulsion, and 
stopped the heart — forever. 


CHAP. XVIIL 


Early the next Friday evening, Katherine 
was sitting all alone in her cozy library. 
Mandy had drawn the curtains and lighted the 
lamps, and turned them down, so that only a 
soft diffused light filled the room. 

Agnes had gone to Plainfield, to spend Sun- 
day with some friends, and Katherine had 
just begun to realize how much she was going 
to miss her for the next two or three days. 

She had not spent much time at dinner that 
evening. She found that eating by one’s self 
was something to be done more as a necessity 
than anything else, and she was now feeling a 
trifle lost, not knowing exactly what to do 
with herself, for usually at that hour, Agnes 
would play softly on the piano in the studio, 
while she listened and rested after the long 
day’s work at her painting. 

She wished, half unconsciously for Gordon. 
She had missed him greatly for the past two 


WOULD ANY MAN? l6l 

weeks, and to-night she missed him more 
than ever. She had many things she wanted 
to ask his advice about, and many new ideas 
she wanted to discuss with him. “I must 
stop this,” she said to herself, starting to her 
feet. “I have done what was right, where he 
was concerned at least, and that alone must 
be my consolation.” 

She walked the floor for some time, trying 
to calm her nerves and stop the throbbing in 
her breast. She then took a photograph of 
Gordon from a drawer in her desk and stood 
for some moments looking at it intently. “How 
bitter the best often is,” she said to herself. 
With a sorrowful shake of the head, she re- 
placed the photograph in the drawer, and, 
returning to her seat, gave herself up to 
reflection. “Am I acting for the best?” she 
thought bitterly. “Is there not more chance 
of my ruining his life through the course I am 
pursuing than if I take the one he plead so 
earnestly for? Did he not tell me to put all 
the past out of my life; that he would marry 
me for better or for worse.” 


i 62 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


The color flushed to her face, her heart 
beat violently, and again she rose and paced 
the floor with quick and nervous step. Under 
the lace scarf which encircled her shoulders 
and then fell gracefully over the front of her 
gown of crimson her breath came and went 
quickly. With hands clasped tightly be- 
hind her, her head thrown back, her dark 
eyes flashing, she looked the very essence of 
all that is vigorous in womanhood. Her beauty 
had touched its height. 

She was conscious of nothing except that 
she loved him with her whole heart and soul, 
and for the time she felt the supreme happi- 
ness that onlysiich a full surrender to love can 
give. But in a moment the past rushed back, 
bringing with it pain and sorrow; all vivacity, 
life and passion vanished from her face in an 
instant; the horror of it all overwhelmed her, 
and she sank heavily back into her chair. 

Here she sat as one condemned to death, 
conscious of nothing except that she was un- 
worthy of the love her inmost soul craved; 


WOULD ANY MAN? 1 63 

that she must turn a deaf ear to the pleadings 
of the one man in the world to her. 

Was it not worse than death? 

Had she not been so thoroughly engrossed 
in her own sad thoughts, she would have 
heard the outer door close, and a man’s foot- 
steps cross the hall which led to the library; 
but she realized nothing else until she looked 
up and saw Gordon standing in the doorway. 

“You!” she said with a start, rising from 
her chair as she spoke. “How long had you 
been there?” 

“Only a moment,” he replied as he came 
towards her. “I was just about to speak, 
when you looked up.” 

“Oh,” she said in a tone of relief, “I am all 
alone to-night, and was sitting here, lost in 
thought. You have come just in time to take 
me out of myself.” 

“I am glad of that,” he replied smilingly. 
“It is always pleasant to be of service to one’s 
friends, however little that service may be.” 

“And do you hold my feelings so lightly?” 


164 


(VOULD ANY MAN? 


“Not at all, you misunderstood me. I meant 
the service, not your feelings.” 

“Oh, that's better,” she said, attempting a 
smile. 

“How is your friend who was hurt so bad- 
ly?” she asked after some time of silence. 

“He was buried yesterday,” Gordon replied 
gravely, “and I think it was a blessing that 
he did not live to continue suffering. There 
was no hope of his ever being any better.” 

“Poor fellow!” Katherine murmured. 

“The funeral was one of the saddest I have 
ever witnessed,” he continued, — “only a very 
few present, and but one woman. From her 
alone came the sobs of unspeakable grief. She 
was very heavily veiled, and no one seemed to 
know who she was. She said nothing, and 
left as quietly as she came.” 

“She spoke the truth, poor girl, when she 
told me she loved him,” Katherine said softly. 

“Do you know who it could have been?” 
Gordon asked, with interest. 

“No, but I have a strong suspicion.” 



“ Won.n YOU, would any man?” 



WOULD ANY MAN? 


165 

“Then perhaps you can help me,” he said, 
drawing a card from his pocket as he spoke. 
“I have been left executor of the will, and have 
been instructed to find a certain woman who 
lives here in New York. The most of the 
property is left to her, and I am anxious to 
get it into her hands. She is an artist’s model, 
I believe, which made me think you might 
have heard of her. Her name is Cynthia 
Cole.” 

“I expected as much,” Katherine answered. 
“Yes, I know her very well. She is the one 
who posed for my figure of Hester Prynne, 
and I can tell you where to find her. I am so 
glad,” she continued, “that he at last tried 
to atone for all the wrong he had done this 
poor girl. It will be such a comfort to her for 
the rest of her life to know that he had some 
little appreciation for all he knew she must 
have suffered, and for the unbounded mercy 
she showed towards him.” 

“Was it as bad as all that?” Gordon asked 
gravely. 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


1 66 

^^Yes, as bad as it is possible for anything 
to be. He not only ruined, but deserted her; 
and while delirious in a hospital she killed 
her child.” 

^‘Horrible!” Gordon exclaimed, “what a ter- 
rible thing life must be to one who has to bear 
the taint of blood guiltiness to the grave.” 

“And yet,” Katherine said earnestly, “you 
surely would not hold her responsible. She 
did not know what she was doing. To vary the 
case somewhat,” she continued after a pause, 
“do you not think that a man or woman can 
be so goaded and tortured by another that, 
in order to protect what is dearest of all on 
earth to him or her, may kill, blindly, in a 
mad fury of rage, the wretch who provokes 
them.” 

“I think,” Gordon replied, wondering at her 
earnestness, “that a woman should always 
protect her honor at any cost.” 

“But,” said Katherine, rising to her feet, 
and looking down on him, her face full of in- 
tense feeling, “suppose it is the honor of one 


WOULD ANY MAN? 1 67 

whom they love better than life itself, are they 
justified then?'’ 

“That is a question which requires a great 
deal of thought,” he replied after deliberation. 
“I could not answer unless I heard all the 
circumstances of such a case.” 

She looked at him with eager gaze, as if try- 
ing to read his inmost thoughts. 

“Arthur,” she said at last, “you are, I know, 
a man of honor. I can trust you implicitly; I 
feel it in all your words and actions. I am 
going to tell you something which has never 
escaped my lips before, and which is known 
to me alone. As you are strong, be merci- 
ful.” 

She paused to catch her breath. Her color- 
less lips trembled, and her face grew ghastly 
white. She reeled, and would have fallen had 
he not sprung forward and caught her in his 
arms. 

“Wait!” she almost screamed. “Not yet; 
not yet; wait until you know all, and then see 
if you wish to touch me.” 


i68 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


He drew back. He felt that he was face to 
face with the supreme moment of his life. He 
could only look at her, wondering at her 
beauty, and wait for her to speak. 

She stood looking straight at him, her 
arms hanging at her sides, her flame-colored 
gown falling in graceful folds around her, her 
head back, with its dark hair massed high 
upon it like a crown, her fair white breast ris- 
ing and falling, her very soul shining through 
her eyes. She looked more like a goddess to 
be worshipped than one who plead for mercy ; 
and then she spoke: “Agnes has told you 
the world’s version of my father’s death. I 
alone can tell you the truth. The world thinks 
he committed suicide; he did not; he was 
killed. I will tell you how.” 

She stopped and gasped again for breath. 

“You have learned how he goaded and tor- 
tured my mother. He seemed to live solely 
to make her life a living hell. For years she 
bore his cruelty without a murmur, then she 
died. Shortly after her death, when I was 


WOULD ANY MAN? 


169 


half crazed with grief, he sent for me. I found 
him in his study. His pistol, which he al- 
ways kept loaded, was lying on the table be- 
side him. In order to get the entire property 
away from me, so that he could bring some 
profligate woman, his mistress, to live with 
him, he told me with a sneering smile — 
oh, my God, how can I tell you — that he in- 
tended to prove me illegitimate, and my 
mother, my pure mother, an adulteress. He 
also dared to tell me that he had proof; that 
nothing could stop him, and that he would 
drag her name — the name that was dearer 
than life itself to me — through the filth of a 
public court. If you could have seen him 
triumphantly confident of victory, you could 
understand what followed. He seemed the 
arch-fiend himself, exulting over the down- 
fall of the pure and holy. It was maddening. 
A fury of rage rushed through me, and mas- 
tered me. I seized the pistol and shot him — 
dead. That moment ruined my life. 

^‘Would you, would any man, marry such a 
woman?” 



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